Just One Bad Day

Tap, tap, tap. I drummed my fingers softly against the aluminium bus seat slowly. Tap, tap, tap. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the young lady beside me frowning with irritation. Her pencil thin eyebrows were pulled closely together, her forehead lined with wrinkles that would disappear the moment she let go of that horrible expression. Her cherry red lips were pursed tightly, the right side twitching occasionally as she stopped herself from opening those lips of hers and giving me a mouthful. It took a lot of effort not to let my own expression of concentration break. The look of pure irritation on her face; I watched her inner turmoil write itself on her face as if she were an empty book, as she fought the urge to speak up. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. That was it, she had finally had enough. Just as she opened her mouth wide to express her irritation I saw the bus turn into the street. Before she could let a word slip from her lips, I turned to her and gave her a grin.

‘254?’ Her look of confusion made me giggle. I rolled my eyes and stood up. I reached up to hail the bus down. I waited until the indicator turned itself on before I let my arm fall and shoved my hands into my pockets. When the bus pulled up and the doors swung open I scurried up the stairs and made my way towards the back few seats. I collapsed heavily into the seat, pulling my knees up to lean against the back of the chair in front of me. I kept my head lowered while I gazed up to watch with amusement as the young lady boarded the bus. I watched as she spotted me, frowned, and turned to one of the first few seats before I lowered my gaze to my lap. In the pocket of my jacket there was the small bulge of my wallet. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers against the soft leather; reassuring myself that it was still there. In the wallet was all my hard work over the last three weeks. It had been nearly five months since Violet had expressed to me her desire to leave Westfay. I had thought very deeply about what she had said over the next month, and had realised she was right. There was no better time than her graduation to leave this dead end town, and so I had begun to set things in motion. I had organised a lift for us to Gotham City, as well as temporary accommodation for us until we could settle ourselves into the city properly. For the last three weeks I had been collecting every cent I could to try and support us. I was determined to make this work: for Violets sake.

The bus ride seemed to take an eternity, the vehicle choosing to make all the turns into the back roads. With little to occupy myself I ended up humming softly along to the tune of an old song by The Kills. The name of the song escaped me. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the lyrics all that well. The heavy bass was stuck in my head and I couldn’t shake it so I just let it slip from my lips, drumming my fingers silently against my thigh as my head bopped slightly from side to side. When I grew tired of that song, I moved onto the next and after that the next song, until I had finally come to the street before my stop. I reached over and hit the buzzer. As the bus turned into my street, I reached into my pocket to check my wallet hadn’t fallen out. I rubbed my thumb along the soft leather as I stood up and made my way into the aisle. I reached the front just as the bus rolled to a stop. I looked over my shoulder at the woman I had irritated at the bus stop, giving her a lopsided smile and a small chuckle before quickly rushing from the bus.

The bus had stopped at the beginning of the street, so I was some 200 meters from my own house. As the doors slammed shut I started making my way down the streets. I was moving swiftly. The cold winter’s air was chilling me to the bone and I was desperate to get inside and away from the wind. As I approached my house I didn’t bother with the gate, instead opting to take a firm grip on the picket fence and crouching slightly before jumping over the fence in one clean swing. Once my feet were planted firmly on the ground again, I pulled my wallet from my pocket and began to jog around to the back of the house. The front door had never been usable. While we were still moving in the police had done a ram raid on the house, looking for the previous tenants. In the process they had damaged the hinges and now the door wouldn’t open. We would have gotten it fixed, but there was honestly no point. We had never complained about using the back door, and getting the land lord to fix anything was so much of a hassle.

When I got around to the back door I noticed the door was ajar. When I saw it open my skin began to crawl. My mother had a habit of never leaving the door open. If she was outside she would close it, and if she was inside she would always lock it; always. If the door was ajar it meant my father was more than likely home. I snarled as I began to grumble to myself. I didn’t want to face him.
‘Mum?’ I called as I pushed the door wide open. As I did I was hit with a thick scent lingering in the air. I stumbled back a step or two as I began to cough. It took me a minute to regain my composure enough to walk into the house again. When I did I found the kitchen empty. I looked around for a moment, trying to find the source of the smell. There was nothing cooking, burning, or rotting in the entire kitchen. After a few moments I shook my head and made my way into the hallway and up the stairs. Before I went into my room I walked down the corridor to my mother’s room. I knocked gently on the door and waited for a reply. When none came I knocked again. When there was no reply again I opened the door slightly to peer in. The room was empty of life. The only thing out of the ordinary was an awfully familiar tuxedo, laid out messily along the bed sheets. I frowned, shaking my head as I closed the door.

‘Mum?’ I called out again as I turned away from her bedroom door. I heard a glass smash somewhere downstairs. I followed the sound, making my way back down to the first floor. I turned away from the kitchen, instead making my way down the corridor towards the lounge room.
‘Mu-’

As I came around the corner I froze. Sure enough there was my father. He was on his favourite chair, mouth wide open as he slept silently. The glass had fallen from his hand, smashing against the floor and spilling what I was certain was rum all over the place. But that image, of my father drunk and passed out, was far from the worst image I would ever see in that room. What lay before me broke my heart. No. It didn’t just break my heart. My heart exploded; my world shattered. And then I threw up.