I found myself in front of my giant, metallic house. It was like a giant mansion, completely covered in shiny pavement that made it shimmer. No one could really get lost in the dark here on my neighborhood, which was on Shine-Way Road. No wonder why they called this road that name.
I approached the house, my shoes hitting the long, sleekly walk-way. It sometimes lit up where you walked, which was nifty in my eyes. We didn't plant any flowers or plants around our house. My sister and mother tried that act, but ended up drowning them from an overdose of water. I wouldn't even try to plant anything else if I got the chance to. I hated nature and all its wonders. I hated the bugs that came with it, the allergies, the rocks and roots that made you trip and fall flat on your face in a pile of mud. Yes, I hated nature. No matter how many times someone said that it's wonderful that nature is around to give us air and the wonderful sky above, I will never cease to think the same.
My hand went onto the door knob, which was relatively cold in my perspective. I get cold easily, which was why I wore such a long and huge trench coat. Its collar went up my neck and sometimes grazed against my jaw line and it reached to a little lower than my knees. It had pockets that could hold anything, literally. They were long and deep.
I opened the door. I was greeted by the scent of the overwhelming warmth, and a hint of cinnamon. Perhaps they were making cookies or some type of goodies in the kitchen. Thankfully, I was happy that they had done that. I needed some warmth and happiness. What happened to me several minutes ago was horrible.
I should warn you about my dad though. I don't like him. He barely cared about my mother's death, and he barely works. All he does to support us is drive us to our schools. He would just grab a cold beer, which hadn't changed in the years, and would sit on his fluffy couch seat and enjoy one of his weird shows on his television. The television hadn't changed either over the years, unusually. They made some modifications here and there, like no remote and you can use your mind powers to change it or some crazy shit like that. I sometimes wondered how history was. What they used, what they did and all of that. We did learn that at my old high school, which was a bore. In 2012, apparently they had iPhones and iPads and some weird things called iPods that played music.
"Hello?" I heard my father's voice call from the living room, which wasn't a big surprise. I walked in, keeping my notebook hidden under my giant coat. He looked up and down at me, raising his eyebrow at my messed up hair, swollen eyes and bruises. I could already feel the judgment passing through his cold eyes into mine, which made me feel uneasy. I wanted to run up to my room, but I had to face him. Like a courageous knight facing a furious dragon at midnight, in order to save his loved one.
"What in the hell happened to you?" asked my father. I imagined him ask it like one of those angry, southern people from a sitcom. I'm surprised I remember that word, sitcom.
Nothing that you would care about. "I got in a fight," I replied, my voice straining to top his strong and boisterous one. My wishes could not prevail though.
"With? School friends? Do you need me to drive you back to school and beat them up?" father asked, standing up as he placed his drink on the floating coaster next to him. I raised my eyebrow, slightly.
"Dad, I don't go to school. I'm 19," I replied, my voice saddening lightly as I walked into the kitchen, ending the conversation before I could hear anymore of this mutiny. I hated him, with all of my heart. The kitchen was warm and toasty, which made me almost shed my jacket. My little brother, Thomas, was playing around in the kitchen. He stuck his hands in the flour, spilling some onto the floor, and then would walk over to the kitchen sink. Before he got the flour wet, he placed the flour in a bowl and turned on the faucet. The water filled only a small portion, when he turned it off and mashed his hands around in the white mess. He giggled when the gross substance stuck to his hands and plopped back onto the bowl.
"Thomas?" I asked my tone slightly happy and I even added a small chuckle into it. "What are you making?"
"A sink hole! My teacher told me about it in school," Thomas replied, looking up at me with his huge eyes. I smiled, gingerly, and then took the bowl from his hands. I knew I would be cleaning up the kitchen, that is, unless my sister Marilia wouldn't.
"That's great. I'm sorry, but I don't feel like cleaning this entire place up. Do you mind playing in your room?" I asked Thomas, softly. He sighed, not necessarily sad, but just unamused. I heard his little feet go scampering up the stairs and into his room. And then I realized.
Where was Marilia?
She would usually be home at this time. I began to think that maybe she went to a friend's house or she stopped to get something to eat at the ice cream shop nearby. It was better to know than to think, so I walked over to that horrible man that was sadly called my father. I placed my hands in my pockets and frowned.
"Where's Marilia?" I asked, toughly. He turned towards me, raising an eyebrow.
"You didn't hear?" he asked, gazing at me like I was stupid. "She's dead." My eyes widened as my heart jumped into my throat, nearly choking me. Marilia was dead?!