Living with a Silent

Days of Silence - 0 Lost in voices

Church. It's not the most thrilling of activities. You sit there with a small book open singing 'Praise the Lord' or 'Kumbaya' with an old graying man at the front with more wrinkles than a raisin. For a 15 year old, this isn't my idea of 'fun', it's far from it.

I wouldn't say we are a very religious family either. I know my mum comes here because she likes the singing and stuff, but my dad im not too sure about. Maybe mum makes him endure this, maybe he has no say what so ever. Sighing, my green eyes dart to my right to see Gemma with her eyes closed, the prayer finished a couple of moments ago. I'm guessing she is asleep and my mum hasn't realized yet.

Gemma is my older sister. She's 17 with blond hair and a different boyfriend every other week. She says it's true love, but how would she know? She's only 17. If you call true love shoving your tongue down someone's throat, then I don't want anything to do with it really. I don't understand why anyone would want to do that once, never mind do it every single day.

I know she does this because I go to the same school as my sister. Every time I go to my locker or anywhere in the school for that matter, there she is, BOOM! Tongue down a poor, defenseless boys throat. And the scary part is that the poor sod looks like he actually loves her. He doesn't know that he will be dumped in about 24 hours, that's if he can get away that fast, others aren't so lucky.

Everyone stands up for the last (thank god) prayer of the day. My dark green eyes dart to my sister, who doesn't stand. My mum now realizes that she has been sleeping for a good 5 or 10 minutes. She is given a good hard elbow in the arm. Her hazel eyes jump open and she scrambles up to join the rest of us. A smug grin seems to work its way across my pale, freckled face. 

That's the one thing I hate about my self. The freckles. It's like someone dipped their paintbrush in brown paint and flicked it across my face. Everyone says they make me look cute, but hell, I don't want to look cute. I want to look like I belong in year 11 not year 5.

We walk out Into the frosty January evening, my breath tripping out my mouth in small white, floating puddles. It's dark, but it's only 6pm. I can't wait until summer. The sun dripping it's heat on my arms and legs, giving me sun kissed skin and the excuse to go swimming with all my mates. But I will have to wait, as summer isn't for 5 months, and those months will drag like me trying to pull a heavy Tesco bag.

 "Kate, come on now, stop dilly dallying and get In the car" my mum calls me across the car park and I trot over to her voice, trying hard not to slip on the thin layer of ice sleeping beneath my feet. 

My mum seems stressed, more stressed than usual, and me walking slowly to the car isn't helping. "Hurry up!" she yells, and I do. But I run too fast and slip on a thin layer of black ice beneath me. She does nothing but stare down at me, anger contorting her face, her cheeks growing red from the cold breeze around us. My dad runs round and gives me a large gloved hand and pulls me to my feet, my mum still watching from the car.

 "Don't mind your mother, she's just a little agitated at the moment..." He says in my ear as we run carefully to the car, me gripping his arm the whole way. Mum gets in and doesn't say a word.

I don't understand why she's so moody, I know Gemma has been extremely irritating lately, asking if she can have a club party for her 18th which is dawning quickly upon us (oh God). Mum always gives her the same answer, a firm and slightly irritated 'no'. But nothing else comes to mind in what could be annoying her.

I've been keeping out of her way lately, she's been having a go at me for silly things. She never asked me to do it, so i never did. SO WHATS HER PROBLEM? I sigh in the back, slightly too loud and my mum turns on my like a hawk seeing its pray.