Status: alive/dead? alive.
Reckless
Quincy Joe
"Quincy Joe, get your ass out of bed now!"
My eyes blink open for a few seconds and I look over to my right, spotting the alarm clock. 7:32. Awe, fuck that shit, my ass is staying in bed! I flop over, facing the wall just as my bedroom door slams open.
"Really, is that fucking necessary?" I grunt, turning over.
"Shut down with that attitude, Joe." my mom says, giving me the look. "Now get up and get ready, you have to go to that house the judge sent you too."
"What house?" I ask, sitting up and stretching.
Throwing a vanilla folder of paper work on my lap, my mom starts to walk out saying, "Hurry up."
I pick up the folder and look over what's inside, the first sentence catches my attention and I nod my head.
"This is gonna be hell."
I take a glance at the clock and shoot out of bed and start to get ready. My music goes on as I pick clothes off the ground and sniff them. Smells clean to me, I shrug and start to put my jeans on, hopping around a bit putting on my black Toms. My favorite loose tank that has a triangle is a bit wrinkling but it’s whatever, I grab my keys off my nightstand and start to head down the hall. The smell of Papa Rancheras hit my nostrils and I make a bee line straight for the kitchen. I see my mom standing over the stove flipping a flour tortilla, one hand stirring the food and the other on her round noticeable baby bump. I’m kind of happy to be having a baby sister on the way, well not kind of its more like excited, that it’s the only thing making me smile about this family.
“Get yourself a plate, the foods ready.” My mom states not looking at me.
Walking my way to the counter, I grab a tortilla and open the drawer on the bottom and take a fork out and grab two forks full of papas. I make sure my tortilla is full before I walk out the kitchen and grab my leather jacket, throwing it over my shoulder and walk out the door, eating my taco. Fuck staying in that house. I let out a groan and march back inside the house and down the hall to my room – forgot my iPhone, wallet, and the paper work. Dumbass.
-
8:10
I pull up to a two story light brown house with green grass, flowers, and a porch swing. Well this is nice change in scene. Parking my 66 Ford Mustang, I take the key out of the ignition, grab my important things and close the car door, locking it. This may be a nice ass neighborhood, but I’m very protective of my car, I put a lot of blood, sweat, and money into that thing so of course locking it and watching it as knock on the door is a good habit I made. I tear my eyes away from my car when I hear the door open and a short light brown haired woman is staring up at me.
“Uh, hi?” I greet, clipping my keys to my belt loop.
“You must be the boy who is here to take care of Haden, right?” she asks, smiling a bit.
I give out a fake short chuckle, “Yes.”
“Come on in,” she moves to open the door wider.
As I step inside the house, she speaks again, “He’s in the art room, you can just sit in the living room for a few minutes, and my name is Sarah, yours?”
“Quincy Joe.” I answer, switching the paperwork under my right arm while I take off my jacket.
Sarah nods her head and takes off down the hall, her heels clicking with every step. I turn into the living room and place the folder on top of the dark wood coffee table along with my black leather jacket. Opening the folder, I take a seat on the cream sofa and start reading where I left off.
Haden Jones, just out of hospital for multiple personality disorder, supposed to be taking pills of disorder, stop seeing doctor…
As I move the papers, I slide my finger against the edge of a white paper and hiss out a, “Shit!”
A little bit of blood starts to come down my index finger; I get up and start to head out the living room and down the hall. Soft music is playing as I wonder, trying the find Ms. Sarah, I look through each open door and come to the last one with different colored hand prints on the door. Is this a little kid I’m taking care of?
“Come on Haden, this nice lad is here to see you.” I hear Ms. Sarah coon, like she’s talking to a little boy.
I push open the door and just my luck is squeaks open loudly. Ms. Sarah snaps her head in my direction and a look of worry flashes across her face. My gaze goes down and there I spot a teenage boy, he’s looking up at his mother with a childish grin. The kid is nuts; I know he is. Finger paint smudges on his cheeks, chest and legs he turns his gaze to me, those bright brown eyes wide and innocent. Just like that he's got me trapped in his spell of mixed personalities. I’m fucked.
My eyes blink open for a few seconds and I look over to my right, spotting the alarm clock. 7:32. Awe, fuck that shit, my ass is staying in bed! I flop over, facing the wall just as my bedroom door slams open.
"Really, is that fucking necessary?" I grunt, turning over.
"Shut down with that attitude, Joe." my mom says, giving me the look. "Now get up and get ready, you have to go to that house the judge sent you too."
"What house?" I ask, sitting up and stretching.
Throwing a vanilla folder of paper work on my lap, my mom starts to walk out saying, "Hurry up."
I pick up the folder and look over what's inside, the first sentence catches my attention and I nod my head.
"This is gonna be hell."
I take a glance at the clock and shoot out of bed and start to get ready. My music goes on as I pick clothes off the ground and sniff them. Smells clean to me, I shrug and start to put my jeans on, hopping around a bit putting on my black Toms. My favorite loose tank that has a triangle is a bit wrinkling but it’s whatever, I grab my keys off my nightstand and start to head down the hall. The smell of Papa Rancheras hit my nostrils and I make a bee line straight for the kitchen. I see my mom standing over the stove flipping a flour tortilla, one hand stirring the food and the other on her round noticeable baby bump. I’m kind of happy to be having a baby sister on the way, well not kind of its more like excited, that it’s the only thing making me smile about this family.
“Get yourself a plate, the foods ready.” My mom states not looking at me.
Walking my way to the counter, I grab a tortilla and open the drawer on the bottom and take a fork out and grab two forks full of papas. I make sure my tortilla is full before I walk out the kitchen and grab my leather jacket, throwing it over my shoulder and walk out the door, eating my taco. Fuck staying in that house. I let out a groan and march back inside the house and down the hall to my room – forgot my iPhone, wallet, and the paper work. Dumbass.
-
8:10
I pull up to a two story light brown house with green grass, flowers, and a porch swing. Well this is nice change in scene. Parking my 66 Ford Mustang, I take the key out of the ignition, grab my important things and close the car door, locking it. This may be a nice ass neighborhood, but I’m very protective of my car, I put a lot of blood, sweat, and money into that thing so of course locking it and watching it as knock on the door is a good habit I made. I tear my eyes away from my car when I hear the door open and a short light brown haired woman is staring up at me.
“Uh, hi?” I greet, clipping my keys to my belt loop.
“You must be the boy who is here to take care of Haden, right?” she asks, smiling a bit.
I give out a fake short chuckle, “Yes.”
“Come on in,” she moves to open the door wider.
As I step inside the house, she speaks again, “He’s in the art room, you can just sit in the living room for a few minutes, and my name is Sarah, yours?”
“Quincy Joe.” I answer, switching the paperwork under my right arm while I take off my jacket.
Sarah nods her head and takes off down the hall, her heels clicking with every step. I turn into the living room and place the folder on top of the dark wood coffee table along with my black leather jacket. Opening the folder, I take a seat on the cream sofa and start reading where I left off.
Haden Jones, just out of hospital for multiple personality disorder, supposed to be taking pills of disorder, stop seeing doctor…
As I move the papers, I slide my finger against the edge of a white paper and hiss out a, “Shit!”
A little bit of blood starts to come down my index finger; I get up and start to head out the living room and down the hall. Soft music is playing as I wonder, trying the find Ms. Sarah, I look through each open door and come to the last one with different colored hand prints on the door. Is this a little kid I’m taking care of?
“Come on Haden, this nice lad is here to see you.” I hear Ms. Sarah coon, like she’s talking to a little boy.
I push open the door and just my luck is squeaks open loudly. Ms. Sarah snaps her head in my direction and a look of worry flashes across her face. My gaze goes down and there I spot a teenage boy, he’s looking up at his mother with a childish grin. The kid is nuts; I know he is. Finger paint smudges on his cheeks, chest and legs he turns his gaze to me, those bright brown eyes wide and innocent. Just like that he's got me trapped in his spell of mixed personalities. I’m fucked.
