Life Sucks, Big Time
Chapter 4
“I’m home!”
Hearing no reply, I walked up the stairs to my room and dropped my bag beside my desk. My room is always clean. Not because I’m a naturally clean person, but because I make an effort. If I’m bored, I’ll tidy my room. And besides, my mum would murder me if I didn’t clean it.
I pulled my homework notebook from my bag and sat down at my desk. Maths, Science and Art. I grabbed my Maths book and quickly solved the problems I had been set in my homework workbook. I didn’t bother to mark them; I knew they were all right. Then I took my science book out of my bag and labelled the diagrams we had been given. I don’t like Science. I just don’t pay attention. Some bits I just don’t get and some bits I get so much it’s sickening listening to them be explained. I’m generally a good student, but Science I’m not very good at. My best grade is a B I believe. And Social Studies. I hate Social Studies. I can’t see the point of it. My teacher is shit too, she’s a real bitch.
After metaphorically scratching my head for several minutes, I finished the Science homework. Now for the fun bit. Art.
I grabbed my Art file and opened it to the latest project. Drawing is what I like best. Painting next. Then Photography.
I took out the copies of paintings we had been given. What we had to do was analyse the style and identify the artist. The first painting I recognised instantly: Van Gogh. It was his trademark style that none could reproduce. I set it aside and turned to the second. After several minutes of careful inspection, I decided it was a Matisse. I wrote my answers down and packed away my homework, then stretched back in my chair. I checked my phone for messages, but there were none.
I lazily got up and wandered into the bathroom attached to my room to wash my hands before getting a snack. As I dried my hands my eyes fell on the razor on the windowsill. I’ve never actually cut myself. I don’t know whether I’ve been thinking logically or whether I’ve just always been too scared. I picked up the razor and examined it carefully. I knew, from countless times shaving my legs, that it was entirely possible to cut yourself with these things. If you ran them sideways at exactly the right angle, you got a sharp stab of pain, and a few seconds later a few drops of blood.
I held it for a minute, wondering what it would feel like to cut yourself. Then I put the razor to my arm, about three inches from my hand, and slowly moved it sideways. Nothing happened. Then I twisted it slightly to one side and immediately felt a sharp bite of pain. I quickly replaced the razor on the windowsill and inspected the damage I had done. A few beads of blood were appearing on the surface of the cut, which was three parallel dotted lines, rather like a cat scratch only closer together. I wiped the blood away and felt it sting as my hand touched it. I ran my finger under the tap and dripped water onto it, and it stung more. I pressed the towel to it for a few seconds, then pulled my arm away to re-inspect. Luckily the towel was multi-coloured already, so the few drops of blood weren’t noticeable. But as I looked, more drops of blood were appearing on the surface of my wrist.
“Shit.”
Why couldn’t I have waited until bedtime to try it? Now Mum would notice and ask me. I grabbed a Band-Aid from the cabinet and quickly stuck it on before donning my hoodie. As long as I didn’t forget and pull my sleeve up, everything should be fine.
I ran down to the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time. I pulled the pantry door open and stared at the assorted cereals and baking supplies before moving on to the fridge. Again, nothing.
I rummaged around in the bottom until I found a can of coke. Then I grabbed a muesli bar from the pantry and ran back up to my room.
And now, drawing time.
**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long. Sorry it's so short. Wait, why am I apologizing? It's MY fucking story, I can do whatever the hell I want. Hah.
XD
Nah, seriously, sorry these chapters are so few and far between. It's not my main story so yeah. Sue me. But first, COMMENT!**
Hearing no reply, I walked up the stairs to my room and dropped my bag beside my desk. My room is always clean. Not because I’m a naturally clean person, but because I make an effort. If I’m bored, I’ll tidy my room. And besides, my mum would murder me if I didn’t clean it.
I pulled my homework notebook from my bag and sat down at my desk. Maths, Science and Art. I grabbed my Maths book and quickly solved the problems I had been set in my homework workbook. I didn’t bother to mark them; I knew they were all right. Then I took my science book out of my bag and labelled the diagrams we had been given. I don’t like Science. I just don’t pay attention. Some bits I just don’t get and some bits I get so much it’s sickening listening to them be explained. I’m generally a good student, but Science I’m not very good at. My best grade is a B I believe. And Social Studies. I hate Social Studies. I can’t see the point of it. My teacher is shit too, she’s a real bitch.
After metaphorically scratching my head for several minutes, I finished the Science homework. Now for the fun bit. Art.
I grabbed my Art file and opened it to the latest project. Drawing is what I like best. Painting next. Then Photography.
I took out the copies of paintings we had been given. What we had to do was analyse the style and identify the artist. The first painting I recognised instantly: Van Gogh. It was his trademark style that none could reproduce. I set it aside and turned to the second. After several minutes of careful inspection, I decided it was a Matisse. I wrote my answers down and packed away my homework, then stretched back in my chair. I checked my phone for messages, but there were none.
I lazily got up and wandered into the bathroom attached to my room to wash my hands before getting a snack. As I dried my hands my eyes fell on the razor on the windowsill. I’ve never actually cut myself. I don’t know whether I’ve been thinking logically or whether I’ve just always been too scared. I picked up the razor and examined it carefully. I knew, from countless times shaving my legs, that it was entirely possible to cut yourself with these things. If you ran them sideways at exactly the right angle, you got a sharp stab of pain, and a few seconds later a few drops of blood.
I held it for a minute, wondering what it would feel like to cut yourself. Then I put the razor to my arm, about three inches from my hand, and slowly moved it sideways. Nothing happened. Then I twisted it slightly to one side and immediately felt a sharp bite of pain. I quickly replaced the razor on the windowsill and inspected the damage I had done. A few beads of blood were appearing on the surface of the cut, which was three parallel dotted lines, rather like a cat scratch only closer together. I wiped the blood away and felt it sting as my hand touched it. I ran my finger under the tap and dripped water onto it, and it stung more. I pressed the towel to it for a few seconds, then pulled my arm away to re-inspect. Luckily the towel was multi-coloured already, so the few drops of blood weren’t noticeable. But as I looked, more drops of blood were appearing on the surface of my wrist.
“Shit.”
Why couldn’t I have waited until bedtime to try it? Now Mum would notice and ask me. I grabbed a Band-Aid from the cabinet and quickly stuck it on before donning my hoodie. As long as I didn’t forget and pull my sleeve up, everything should be fine.
I ran down to the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time. I pulled the pantry door open and stared at the assorted cereals and baking supplies before moving on to the fridge. Again, nothing.
I rummaged around in the bottom until I found a can of coke. Then I grabbed a muesli bar from the pantry and ran back up to my room.
And now, drawing time.
**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long. Sorry it's so short. Wait, why am I apologizing? It's MY fucking story, I can do whatever the hell I want. Hah.
XD
Nah, seriously, sorry these chapters are so few and far between. It's not my main story so yeah. Sue me. But first, COMMENT!**