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Raspberry

By , Taylor, MI
As if sitting here, actually present to one of these things wasn’t enough. Honestly, some people and the nerve they have, it just wows me you know? Well maybe you do or maybe you don’t, I honestly can say that I don’t care, I’m very apathetic about most things. Really I am, you can say it’s a bad thing, but that way I don’t get hurt like ever, so ha, there ya’ll go. And no I am not from Tenseness because I said that. It’s just cool.

My name is Sunny Brooklyn Turner. I guess if you get stuck with the last name Turner, then well, you try to spice up your name a little. No I didn’t name myself, that was all my mothers doing. So talk to her. And I’m far from sunny let me tell you. Or maybe you already have caught on to that, either way, now you know.

So for those of you saying get on with it already fine I am. Don’t have a panic attack or anything. As you may or may not already know, I was in fact sitting down. In a room. With guest speakers. Talking about drugs. Fun stuff. Yeah, those aren’t really sentence but guess what? I don’t care! For those of you who guessed that congratulations, I will send you your gold stars via the mail. Maybe.

Now they were asking for volunteers for a demonstration. I was not waving my hand, but guess what? They didn’t care, I got called up anyways. Now I was really contemplating whether or not I should just not go up, wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, I was kind of the school rebel and not in that black from head to toe including tattoos kinda chick either. For one I did not allow anyone to call me a chick, it’s degrading. And although I really don’t care about a whole lot, I got an opinion and according to the Declaration of Independence, you all have to listen to it. Ha.

As I was saying, I had to get up, walk down the aisle past many the obnoxious person and stand next to some other lucky classmates you got picked as well.

“Alight everyone! Lets learn some about our volunteers here!” the guest speaker said ever so happily that I had to add my two cents in and mumble, “I didn’t volunteer.” He heard, shrugged and asked my name instead.

“And what if I don’t want to tell you?” I said into his microphone, hoping y face showed how unhappy I was to have to come up here anyways. His face blushed and I shrugged and crossed my arms out in front of me. Being the brave little man he was, he went on, asking the actual volunteers their names and all. Bla, bla, bla, I wasn’t listening. In the end, the only thing he made me do was hand him the package of Oreos. Yeah, I know right? What a stupid idiot. I was just happy when the bell rang and school was over. Finally. I stalked off the stage and down the hall that was filled with wonderfully cheery people. Again, bla, bla, bla. I grabbed my green army surplus bag and headed outside into the harsh lighting by the sun. Really, it was way too bright. I headed off down the street and went on until I caught the city bus. I could have taken the school bus but then I would be packed on with other kids who liked to talk and I’m sorry but that just wasn’t me. On the city bus, no one talked, I was silent. Kinda cool.

I turned on my iPod and listened to Uprising by Muse as we went down street after street until we headed to my stop. I lived down a really old lane full of really old house that were built in like 1807 or some such nonsense. They were full of narrow passageways and small stairways as well. I kinda liked it; it gave off a ghostly feeling, a nice eerie air to keep everything awake and entertaining. I loved ghosts. Coolest things that ever roamed this earth.

I walked into the front door, unlocking its many locks beforehand of course. My mom liked to lock everything up. We got money from her government checks for her mental disability. Yep. I’m not really sure what’s wrong with her, never bothered to learn. All I know is that she paints like a madman, she locks everything up, and she still smiles. Oh, and she listens to what the angels tell her. So she says. So in conclusion, she says angels, I say their ghosts, the government says there in her head. Whatever, I say I’m right and technically, I can share my the fact that I’m right with my mom because aren’t like angels another term for ghosts or something? Beats me. We also get money from her paintings, like I said, it’s all she does really. But she doesn’t just use paint. She likes to melt crayons mix in some air freshener stuff and paint it on sheets of rock or paper of course. It’s kinda cool.

Now, when you first enter my house, which you never will because of two reasons, one, I don’t know you nor probably care too and secondly, my mom doesn’t like people, except me. Because I’m her daughter, so don’t feel like it’s ‘cause your personality sucks or anything, which it might but I wouldn’t know because I don’t care. But when I enter my house, first thing I gotta do I call out who it is and the password. She’s paranoid like that, so I gotta say the certain password so she knows its me and not some creep which she is sure everyone is. No, I’m not gonna tell you the password either, I’m not stupid.

“Sunny?” she called out tentivly.

“Yes mom, really me, what are you working on?” I ask because the fact that the door just opened is to freaky to comprehend for her so I try to distract her and talk about something she focuses on all the time which is aka her art work. Which sells well oh by the way.

“I don’t know, see the blue angel said I should paint this rainbow through the water but the yellow angel totally disagreed, now I’ve got this,” she said as I wove my way through the house into her art room. There was a huge canvas on her easel, on it a rainbow in all shades of water showed with a red sky and blue water. It was an amazing painting, but I couldn’t say so, I had to talk to the angels.

“Blue angel, you have your rainbow and your water, yellow angel, look, the rainbow is in your color, why not be happy with it? The talent is very well might I add,” I said objectively, glancing over at my mom.

“They agree with you,” she said finally, happily.

“Dinner?” I asked and she nodded her head absentmindly as she signed the bottom like every painting, S+yb. Sunny plus yellow and blue. It was all for me and the angels.


I really hoped she didn’t catorgize me with the angels, because I was far from what an angel is viewed as. Far from it.





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