Going Under

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Going Under


The wind tousles my chocolate brown curls, as I take the long tiresome walk home. I pull my sleeves down over my chapped and fridged hands, trying to hold in my last bits of warmth. The silence makes a chilling solitude fill the air. My body aches of pains of isolation, I’m not alone but very far away from another soul.

I trudge on through the crackling leaves, dreading the day we have our first snow fall. I hate anything wet, or cold. So when you get both with snow, it’s like the apocalypse to me.

I know I am about 100 yards from my house when the dirt trail begins to change into matted down grass. I sluggishly slide into my house. Throw my book bag on the couch, which I know I will be punished for eventually. I slip off my All Stars and place them neatly under the coat rack. And finally with a sigh of relief I plop down on my oversized bean bag chair. That’s bursting with tiny white beads in every direction. My mother has tried to convince me to throw it out. But I could never do that.

I grab the TV remote and turn on Cartoon Network, which I know I am much too old for it, but I watch it anyways. All my other friends watch MTV and The N, but I really don’t want to know about there totally fake drama.

Whoosh! Goes the door as it lets in the chilly fall air, as well as my mother.
“How was school?” Mom asks
“Delightful.” I reply with a sarcastic smirk on my face.
“Hmm…” Is all she replies.

I quickly run up to my room, slips off my scratchy jeans, and slip into something more comfortable. I fall face first into my pillow, angry with the world, the people, the bullies at school, but most of all my father. So many questions run through my head, as they do every day. Why did he leave us? Why didn’t I deserve any more of an explanation other than “I just cant do it anymore.”? How does a 20¢ card and a 10$ savings bond count as a father daughter relationship? Then I look up, a small pink envelope sits on my desk. I squint my eye to make out the sender… it’s from John Tyler. My father. I think back… Its not Christmas, my birthday, Halloween… I have no idea why this card is her for me?

End of chapter 1!





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback