Voodoo Doll l.H {on hold}

Packing up and painting

I grabbed a cardboard box and walked over to my dresser. I dropped it on the floor and ran my fingers through my hair as I spun around to take a look around my room. I put my hands on my hips and sighed in frustration. This was what? The eighth time I have packed up my room?

"Simmer down, simmer down"

I turned back around to my dresser and opened a drawer.

"We worked too damn hard for this"

I began shoving clothes Into the box.

"If you don't swim, you'll drown, but don't move, honey."

Duh.

"She looks so perfect standing there in my American apparel underwear."

What?

I crossed the room and hopped up on my bed. I slowly took down two posters off the wall. The first was an ACDC poster and the second was a Queen poster. I finished packing in less than a half hour. That's only because I never finish UNPACKING when we move incase we have to move again. I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I heard my mom yell something so I turned my radio off.

"OLIVIA!"

"WHAT?" I shout.

"OLIVIA!!!" UGHHH

"WHAT???" I scream, louder and extremely frustrated this time.

"DINNER WILL BE READY IN 30 MINUTES!"

I sigh

"OLIVIA?!"

"OK!!" I shriek.

I close my eyes and rest my hands on my head for five minutes. I sit up and stare at the wall before rolling onto my stomach and reaching my hand under my bed. I fumble around until I grab a knife I stash under my bed. I hop off my bed gripping the knife and cross the room to the wall opposite my bed. I trace my hands down to the corner where one of my walls meets the other. I bend down near the carpet and dig the knife into the wall. I etch my name into the wall in small print. I do this in every house we move to and from no matter how creepy it sounds. We started moving so much that I just got furious one day and etched my name into the wall. My parents never find out, as for the owners after us? I don't know nor do I care. I do this to leave my mark. To show that no matter how crappy my life is, this house was apart of it. Wow did that sound cliche to you? I slowly traced over my name and then stood up and threw the knife into the closest box near me.

I pick up my phone and check for any text messages. HAH! Yea right. I toss my phone onto my bed and walk into the hallway. I decide to knock on my dad's art studio door which is no doubt where he probably is right now. See my dad is an artist. And an amazing one if you ask me. My dad and I share a really special bond because of the interest we both have in art. He's in there basically every second of every day. Which is why my mom supports the whole family right now. My dad is waiting for the day he is able to sell his own piece of art work for millions. So he gave up his job and social life to be able to work on his art. Trust me, I love my dad's artwork, but sometimes I wish he would just get a job so we can stop moving.

"Dad?" I call.

" It's open" he replies

I open the door and walk into the smell of fresh paint, my absolute favorite smell in the world.

"Hey" I say. My dad is sitting on a worn out wooden stool staring blankly at a white canvas. There's paint brushes, crumpled pieces of paper, oil pastels, charcoal, pencils and other art supplies scattered around him.

"Whatchya workin on?" I say some what awkwardly while I close the door behind me.

" No idea" he sighs

" Can I paint?" I ask.

" Sure" he says blankly.

I walk over and grab a medium sized canvas off a stack of canvases in the corner of his studio and set it on an easel. I then go over to the sink and grab a few paint brushes and a paint palette. I lazily put a drop of each color on the palette. I walk back over to the easel and pull up a stool. I begin to paint a rose, softly running the paint brush against the canvas in rounded strokes.

"So" my dad says breaking the silence " I heard we're moving again?"

" Yup" I sigh.

"Australia?"

I nod slowly. He shakes his head. We sit there in a comfortable silence as he watches me paint. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. His scruffy caramel hair falls in front of his face. Not so much as you can't see his dark brown eyes tho. He also had those famous Abott dimples and freckles my sister an I have. We were basically exact replicas of my dad. We were nothing like my mom. She had straight blonde shoulder length hair with no freckles or dimples. She wore strictly knee length black dresses and skirts paired with classy gold accessories while my dad wore plaid button up shirts paired with worn out ripped up jeans. My mom wore high heels while my dad just wore no shoes at all. I respected my dad more that my mom. I still loved my mom though......I guess.

My dad rested his elbows on his knees, now hunched over, as he smiled at my painting.

"That's excellent" he said.

A huge grin spread across my face. My artwork meant everything to me, especially when my dad liked it.

"Thank you" I replied.

My sister eventually joined in and we all painted together. The moment was ruined when my mom called us all down for dinner. Ah dinner. Where I sat there arguing with my mom (again) while my dad smirked at my funny comebacks and nodded during my reasoning. All while my mom glared at my father for not supporting her and my sister played with her food, her elbow propped up on the table with her head resting on her hand. After dinner we all parted our separate ways. At eleven, I finally got into bed. I could hear my father listening to 'Teenage Dirtbag' in his studio. I laughed and closed my eyes, silently singing along until I fell asleep.