Part Of Me

Who's actually there for me? That's a question I've been asking myself for a while now, and I still haven't gotten the answer. I'm an ember. Glowing in the darkness, doing nothing. But soon, I'll be a firework, dancing in the darkness like flames.

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1. Daily Routine

I span around my room, tossing my hair back and forth. I'm happiest when I'm in my room, listening to my music, no-one else in the house, so no-one tells me not to sing. It's not like I've got a shattered voice-box. People that have heard me sing actually say I'm quite good. But obviously, I don't sing around my family, I don't like it when people tell me to shut up or whatever. Music pulsed through my veins as if it was what was keeping me alive. In a way, it was. Music has been the one thing that I could always count on, since I got my first guitar when I was younger. The memory is very clear in my mind. When I unwrapped it, my mouth wide open in awe. I didn't know how to play it, or how to hold it properly. But I knew I would always have it by my side, through the ups and down. That guitar sat there in the corner, on it's stand, in great condition for it's age. I'm sixteen now, I think I was ten when I got it. Actually, it's not that old then.

 

I heard a car engine growing in loudness from outside, it was my Dad's car. I dashed to the speakers on the other side of my room, unplugged it and rip the iPod out of it. I don't like people knowing I was singing either, it's annoying. It's also not  very wise choice, cause they'll think I'm hiding something. You would think that they got me a guitar when I was younger, they'd want to me to use the thing, but I'm guessing they like the sound of the TV instead of me. Harsh but true. I opened up my laptop, and switched it on, as if I was always on it. I quickly hopped down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Kind of routine: Come down stairs, make Mum and Dad a coffee, and disappear back into my room as if the coffees appeared from thin air. Magic. The kettle boiled while I got the milk from the fridge. One black coffee, no sugars for Mum. One coffee, one and a half sugars, sometimes two when a sweet tooth has come into play for Dad.

 

After I made them, I popped the milk back into the fridge and dashed back upstairs. Well, at least I tried. The front door slammed open just before I left the kitchen, and my Mum came in, carrier bags in her hands. She works from 9am til 5pm, but that's only one of her jobs. Sometimes, she has another one on the same day from 6pm til 10pm, occasionally 11pm. So I can't really blame her for being tired most the time, but she doesn't have to be so.... I don't know. Moody? Nah that's not the word I'm looking for. More like, stressed. Yeah that seems right. I stood as still as I could, hoping she wouldn't ask me to put the shopping away or to do some boring chore. She looked straight at me, but she just smiled, and walked into the living room. Something doesn't seem right, or she's just less cranky today. But please I wasn't asked to do anything, I quickly fled upstairs, praying that she wouldn't call me downstairs.

 

I shut my bedroom door, and leant against it, simply just thinking. But the thing is, I didn't know what I was thinking about. For all I know, I could thinking about dinosaurs learning to fly a jet. Random suggestion but yeah. I shook the thought of thinking out of my head and settled on the swivel chair in front of my desk. I logged onto Facebook, but only to see no messages. Which is half good and half bad. Good cause no-one needs me to sort out a problem, and bad cause I have nothing to do. I sighed, and retired for the day. Knowing and sensing tomorrow is going to be different.
 

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