Andy

I was walking out of some random store, careful to go unnoticed. I felt adrenaline pumping through my veins, as the realization hit me.
I had stolen something yet again.
I walked quicker now, walking through people who walked by. The sun was beating down on my skin, making it feel warm. In the pocket of my denim jacket was two packs of cigarettes which I had stolen. I was satisfied with myself.
Eventually, I stopped, taking a cigarette out, and lighting it up. I felt all my troubles melt away with every puff, and I began to relax for the first time today. Everything always had to be difficult.
I loitered around different parts of town for a few hours, unable to find anything worth my time. When I noticed that the sun had practically set, I turned on a random street, walking down the sidewalk. I examined the houses, noticing how nice they were compared to mine.
The houses were made out of brick, looking sturdy. There were nicely trimmed shrubs in front of them, and green, luscious lawns. Here and there I would catch a glimpse of the occasional flower.
My house was a dump compared to these houses, and I almost felt ashamed and jealous with that thought. I bet it would be nice to live in one of these places instead of the s***hole I call my home.
I was taken out of my thoughts when I saw a notebook being thrown out of a random window. It landed right by my feet with a thud. I quickly picked it up, putting it under my jacket, and continued to walk.
I looked at the window it appeared to come out of, and saw a boy with brown hair looking out of it. I assumed he saw me, so I moved even quicker, wanting to get home as soon as possible.
When I was finally home, I tried my best to go unnoticed. I quietly tried to close the door, careful not to disturb my old man. My attempt at going unseen was a failure, because when I turned around, I was met with his cold, pale blue eyes.
“Where were you this late at night?” he growled.
“I went on a walk,” I replied back, trying to make myself sound tough.
My father stood at 6’4, a Vietnam War veteran. He had to come home after a sever blow to the head, and the death of my mother. Without him, I’d be orphaned.
I looked him over, studying his physical appearance. He too had blond hair, and blue eyes. The only difference between our eyes, however, were that his were ice cold, not a hint of emotion showing.
I gulped. I knew what was going to happen to me.
“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you not to wander the streets at night? Are you trying to be a bum? You ungrateful s***,” he spat.
“I’m sorry, dad, it won’t happen again,” I whispered.
“I’m not your dad,” he said coldly.
I nodded, trying to tell him I understood. But that wasn’t enough, because before I knew it, I was slumped against the wall, blood dripping down my face, blood coming from my nose.
The feeling of being beat was all too familiar to me, and would continue being familiar to me unless I did something.

Peter
I had woke up that morning feeling more bland than ever. The sunrise was disappointing, grey clouds were spread across the whole entire sky. I felt miserable, missing my sister and my notebook filled with all the stories I had written. I felt like it wasn’t fair that I had to succumb to the life my parents, especially my father, gave me.
Hell, I wasn’t even in highschool yet, and he was planning out my whole entire future for me. I just can’t comprehend how that’s okay for anyone to do. I just finished my eighth grade year a couple of days ago, and was expecting my report card to come any day now.
I walked over to my closet, and picked out a nice pair of blue jeans, and a clean button down shirt. I also decided to wear my white converse.
In a hurry, I fixed my brown hair, running my hands through it. I looked at my face in the mirror, seeing some undereye circles. My green eyes looked unimaginably dull, and I couldn’t see the sparkle in them that I saw yesterday before everything went to shit.
I went to my window, opening it. I looked down at the driveway, and saw that the car was gone. I sighed in relief.
We had a nice car, a red 1955 Chrysler 300. I liked it, and I hoped one day I’d get it when I was old enough to drive. I knew deep down that this was a stretch though, because it seemed like everything I wished for never happened.
I smiled, turning away from the window. Since my father went to work, it appeared that only my mother and I were home. For the most part, she avoided me, which is sad to say. But, I knew that being avoided was better than what my father usually gave me, so I appreciated what I got from her.
I looked at the clock, realizing that I was hungry. I slowly walked down the stairs, as I sat at my spot at the table, waiting to be served.
I heard the sizzling of food being made in the kitchen, and it made my stomach clench in hunger. I felt as if I hadn't eaten in days, even though I knew that thought was untrue.
I began to space out, as I thought about another universe. I pictured myself. I was happy, a wide grin on my face. My skin appeared to be glowing, My eyes had a spark in them that I didn’t recognize. My sister was next to me, too. Her brown hair was cascading down her back, and her dimples were prominent. Even my parents were happy, my mother and father looking pleased with their children.
I was brought back to my reality when I realized my mother was snapping in my face, trying to get attention. I looked at her, realizing how old she had gotten since Paige’s death. She had more fine lines on her skin, and it always looked dull. She had no spark in her eyes, and I could hardly remember the last time I saw her smile. She wasn’t the same, and I don’t think she ever will be.
“Yeah, mom?” I asked, showing her that I acknowledged what she was doing.
She took a seat across from me, and I could tell she was struggling to find the words she wanted to use.
“Why did you get so mad at your father last night?” she whispered. Her voice was soft, yet stern at the same time. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“Because I have a dream, and no one is listening to me!” I replied, rather harshly. I just couldn’t understand why they couldn’t see that I wanted to write, and accept it.
“Your father is right about dreams, you know. They don’t come true, and they waste your time,” she mumbled. She tried to hold my hand across the table, but I pulled back swifty.
“Yeah? He’s right, is he? Well, mother, you guys wouldn’t know, because all you guys do is sit on your fucking asses all day, trying to control my goddamn life!” I yelled, standing up.
My mother looked hurt, sadness was filling her eyes. She clearly wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction from me, and didn’t know how to handle it.
“Your food is ready,” she said, quickly changing the subject. I sat back down.
She handed me a plate filled with bacon and eggs, along with a glass of milk. I silently thanked her, and proceeded to eat my meal in peace. She just quietly watched me from her seat, her mind clearly racing. I almost felt bad for what I had said. Almost.
When I was done eating, I had decided that I wanted to clear my head. I contemplated where to go, before I decided on going downtown.
“Mom, I’m going out!” I said, notifying her of my disappearance.
“Alright. Please, be safe,” she replied.
With that, I stepped out of the door. I felt warm, sticky air attack my skin. I began to leave the property, heading down the road that I saw the boy from last night walking on.
I wondered who he was, and what he was doing. What was his name? Did he have dreams? What was he doing on my street? I knew I’d never know the answers to these questions, but I figured that thinking about anything besides my family or I would do me some good.
I felt like I saw the kid someplace before, his blond hair looking familiar. I tried to recall what he was wearing, too. I believed it was a pair of jeans, and a denim jacket. I can’t be sure now, but the thought of the strange boy walking in my neighborhood intrigued me.
Before I knew it, I had reached downtown. Around me were stores, restaurants, and people walking in the streets. There were children who played with a ball, and there were adults rushing off into different directions. All around me were different types of people, all with some kind of story.
I bet on my life that none of them had a story quite as impressive and depressing as mine though. The people around me seemed to be genuinely happy, a group of girls to my right giggling, and a group of boys to my left discussing something. I had friends, sure, but none of them would understand what it was like, living in my reality. No one would.
I walked into a convenience store, fishing out some change from my pocket. I got a Coca Cola, and silently paid for it. The man at the register smiled at me, before it dropped.
“Hey kid, is something wrong?” he questioned.
“No, everything's fine,” I mumbled back, trying to avoid his gaze.
“I think I know you,” he replied. I looked him up and down. He was a rather plump man, with black hair, and black eyes that matched.
“How?” I questioned. I felt sort of creeped out, but extremely intrigued at the same time.
“You must be Peter, your sister used to come down here all the time,” he said. I could tell he was reminiscing about the past.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, cheerfully. I don’t know why, but I was thrilled that someone seemed to have remembered my sister.
“Gee, she was great. She always had these dreams. I think she was something else,” he replied. He had a smile on his face.
“Yeah, she was,” I answered back, smiling. With that, I left the store, a Coca Cola in hand.
For the rest of the day, I did random things. I looked at flowers, and birds. I watched water drip from gutters, and I took in the small details of people. Every person I saw had a difference. It was so weird, yet so fascinating. I loved every second of it.
Eventually, I had to go home. The sun had come out just in time for the sunset. The sky was a divine orange, and it looked unique. I wish I could have stayed out longer, but unfortunately, I didn’t have that luxury.
When I walked into my neighborhood, I saw that the car was back. I mentally cursed myself, because I was hoping I would get home before my father. Much to my disappointment, that didn’t happen.
I slowly unlocked the door, and carefully walked in. The minute I closed the door behind me, I realized that there was something terribly wrong. An eerie silence filled my ears. I glanced around, no one was to be seen.
I walked into the kitchen, and saw my petrified mother sitting on the stool. I looked at her, severely concerned. However, before I could say anything, she began to speak.
“He’s waiting for you in your room,” she shakily whispered. I gulped at this.
I tried to walk as slow as I possibly could up the stairs, terrified of what was going to happen. Why was he upstairs? Why was my mother so unstable?
I turned the doorknob of my room, taking a deep breathe. When I looked in, my dad was sitting at my desk, his back facing me.
“Dad?” I asked, unsure of what else to say.
“Come here,” he demanded. I immediately obeyed, not wanting to make my current situation worse than it already was.
He stood up, and then faced me. I could tell he was holding something. I peered at it. It seemed to be a yellow envelope.
He pulled out a sheet of paper from the envelope, and held it in front of my face. I scanned it quickly, unsure of what I was looking at.
“These were your end of the year grades, son,” he said harshly.
I suddenly put the pieces together.
“I’m actually appalled with you. An A- in math. How disgusting,” he spat.
Are you actually f*ing kidding me, I thought to myself.
“You failed my standards, Peter. I expected more from you!” he suddenly yelled at me.
I felt tears in my eyes. I absolutely resented being yelled at. It just made me feel terrible about myself, and I absolutely hated the feeling.
“Why are you crying? Are you a pu**y now too?” he questioned me. I felt like I was going to be sick.
I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, getting a lecture on my grade, and how I would be a failure if I didn’t follow his rules. I nodded every time he said something, trying to block out what was happening.
He just got louder and angrier, and I could feel myself clenching my fists. I honestly felt like I was suffocating at the moment, and I was unsure what to do.
Finally, he had gotten tired, and left, slamming the door behind him. I walked over to my bed, sitting on it, and burying my face in my hands, beginning to cry.
That was when I decided something. I was going to run away, and never come back.