Will She Find Her Name In the California Cement?
Some Kind Of An Omen.
I woke up on a dull, gloomy Friday morning to my alarm clock and the sound of a drizzling rainstorm, falling from the sky and pitter-pattering against the roof of my house. From the moment that I opened my eyes, I knew that today was somehow different than all the rest. That today was a turning point.
I slid out of bed and slumped across my dim bedroom. I shut off the alarm on my old, partly broken clock and started the day.
I went downstairs and headed straight to the kitchen. Although I’m never hungry in the mornings, I know that if I don’t eat something before I go to school I’ll be starving hours before I get a chance to eat lunch so I poured a bowl of Froot Loops and sat down at the table to eat them. In between spoonfuls I looked around to see what the rest of my family was up to.
My dad, dressed in his scrubs and ready for work was sitting at the same table as me, sipping coffee while watching the Channel 10 morning news. My younger sister was eating breakfast while cuddling with the smaller of our two cats, Daisy and watching some kid’s cartoon. My mom was sitting in her bathrobe in the back room reading the bible with candles lit, just like she does every morning.
The same thought that always crosses my mind on solemn mornings like this struck me once again: This house is way too good for me. And so are they.
I swear. I yell and argue and fight. I’m quick to anger if seriously provoked and not afraid to throw out insults. I don’t mind breaking rules if I think that they are stupid. I sometimes do things that I know I really shouldn’t.
And here my mother is, lighting candles and reading the bible, for God’s sake! (No pun intended.)
Enough said. I really, truly don’t belong here.
This thought used to bother me. Now I honestly couldn’t care less, because it’s the truth and no one can change the truth.
Having lost my taste for cereal, I set the half-empty bowl next to the sink and headed back upstairs to get some new clothes. After twisting on my lamp and turning on my stereo, which was currently playing Motley Crue, the digging through my drawers began.
I settled for an outfit that was typical for me, a pair of worn out, faded blue jeans and a plain green t-shirt. Simple and practical. I finished the look with a dark blue zip-up sweatshirt.
The cool October air made the entire house pretty cold considering that my mom refused to turn on the furnace before winter, so as soon as my skin was bared in the process of changing I found myself covered in millions of goose bumps. I shivered and threw the shirt on over my head.
I was done changing so I scooped up my book bag, went downstairs again and set it by the door. My next stop was the bathroom. I stepped in, shut the door behind me, and stood in front of the full length mirror.
Ugh. Same old dull brown eyes. Same old curly brown hair. Same old chubby, 140 pound, five foot-two inch tall body. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Well, looking on the positive side of things, if I were only six inches taller I’d be a model.
With a sigh I picked up two silver studs and two red studs and poked them into my double-pierced ears. I fired up my flat iron just to straighten my long, choppy bangs and then pulled the rest of the curly mop into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. After rolling on some deodorant, I was ready to go.
I glanced at the wall clock. 7:20. Perfect timing.
With no spare time in which to brush my teeth I stuck a piece of Trident White into my mouth and started chomping on that.
I turned off the light and left the bathroom, bumping into my sister as she headed towards the sink to brush her teeth. She was going to be late to the bus stop, as always.
I said an unfeeling goodbye to both my parents, picked up my phone and mp3 player, laced up my black converse shoes and was out the door.
It was even colder outside than it had been inside and the icy raindrops pelted from above, hitting my face and rolling off my cheeks. I squinted my eyes halfway shut, pulled up my hood and continued to trudge towards the bus stop. I was halfway there when I noticed a piece of paper lying on the soaked ground. What I wanted with a muddy piece of paper, I didn’t know, but I decided to pick it up. I could at least throw it away. Yeah, that’s me. The environmentalist.
When the paper was in my hands I noticed that it was a lot thicker than just one piece of paper. I wiped the dirt away from the top to reveal a set of letters.
“Maybe this is an omen,” I thought aloud. In my hands was a battered California road map.
I slid out of bed and slumped across my dim bedroom. I shut off the alarm on my old, partly broken clock and started the day.
I went downstairs and headed straight to the kitchen. Although I’m never hungry in the mornings, I know that if I don’t eat something before I go to school I’ll be starving hours before I get a chance to eat lunch so I poured a bowl of Froot Loops and sat down at the table to eat them. In between spoonfuls I looked around to see what the rest of my family was up to.
My dad, dressed in his scrubs and ready for work was sitting at the same table as me, sipping coffee while watching the Channel 10 morning news. My younger sister was eating breakfast while cuddling with the smaller of our two cats, Daisy and watching some kid’s cartoon. My mom was sitting in her bathrobe in the back room reading the bible with candles lit, just like she does every morning.
The same thought that always crosses my mind on solemn mornings like this struck me once again: This house is way too good for me. And so are they.
I swear. I yell and argue and fight. I’m quick to anger if seriously provoked and not afraid to throw out insults. I don’t mind breaking rules if I think that they are stupid. I sometimes do things that I know I really shouldn’t.
And here my mother is, lighting candles and reading the bible, for God’s sake! (No pun intended.)
Enough said. I really, truly don’t belong here.
This thought used to bother me. Now I honestly couldn’t care less, because it’s the truth and no one can change the truth.
Having lost my taste for cereal, I set the half-empty bowl next to the sink and headed back upstairs to get some new clothes. After twisting on my lamp and turning on my stereo, which was currently playing Motley Crue, the digging through my drawers began.
I settled for an outfit that was typical for me, a pair of worn out, faded blue jeans and a plain green t-shirt. Simple and practical. I finished the look with a dark blue zip-up sweatshirt.
The cool October air made the entire house pretty cold considering that my mom refused to turn on the furnace before winter, so as soon as my skin was bared in the process of changing I found myself covered in millions of goose bumps. I shivered and threw the shirt on over my head.
I was done changing so I scooped up my book bag, went downstairs again and set it by the door. My next stop was the bathroom. I stepped in, shut the door behind me, and stood in front of the full length mirror.
Ugh. Same old dull brown eyes. Same old curly brown hair. Same old chubby, 140 pound, five foot-two inch tall body. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Well, looking on the positive side of things, if I were only six inches taller I’d be a model.
With a sigh I picked up two silver studs and two red studs and poked them into my double-pierced ears. I fired up my flat iron just to straighten my long, choppy bangs and then pulled the rest of the curly mop into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. After rolling on some deodorant, I was ready to go.
I glanced at the wall clock. 7:20. Perfect timing.
With no spare time in which to brush my teeth I stuck a piece of Trident White into my mouth and started chomping on that.
I turned off the light and left the bathroom, bumping into my sister as she headed towards the sink to brush her teeth. She was going to be late to the bus stop, as always.
I said an unfeeling goodbye to both my parents, picked up my phone and mp3 player, laced up my black converse shoes and was out the door.
It was even colder outside than it had been inside and the icy raindrops pelted from above, hitting my face and rolling off my cheeks. I squinted my eyes halfway shut, pulled up my hood and continued to trudge towards the bus stop. I was halfway there when I noticed a piece of paper lying on the soaked ground. What I wanted with a muddy piece of paper, I didn’t know, but I decided to pick it up. I could at least throw it away. Yeah, that’s me. The environmentalist.
When the paper was in my hands I noticed that it was a lot thicker than just one piece of paper. I wiped the dirt away from the top to reveal a set of letters.
“Maybe this is an omen,” I thought aloud. In my hands was a battered California road map.
♠ ♠ ♠
I've had the intro posted for hours and hours and I've only gotten two readers and one subscriber. *sigh*. I just don't get it. But thanks to the very few people who do care. But please leave comments next time! Oh, and just to let you know, the chapter descriptions are irrelevant to the story, they're pieces of lyrics to the song Westbound Sign by Green Day, which is where I snagged the title from.