Every night is the same.

An entry for the competition, 'inspired by a song.' Based around the song, 'use somebody' by Kings of Leon. A young girl is restless once again, and you will see her thoughts and hopes in the point of view of a teenager in a rough neighbourhood.


1. Every night is the same.

And my mother wonders why I still kick up a fuss when I’m sent to bed. Drunken psychopaths roaming and falling loudly on the street, whirring cars and shouting strangers, not to mention the dark eerie shadows that lurk around every corner. I lay motionless in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I fingered the crusted paint on my walls, peeling the remnants and flicking them over to the darkness. Raggedy dog-eared toys littered the surrounding area, button eyes glinting maniacally as though about to come alive, dragging once inanimate limbs upwards into the air… I shielded my head with the mouldy sheets. I know, it sounds so stupid – ‘a great big girl of thirteen afraid of the dark’, to quote my egotistical mother. I’m not, by the way. It’s what’s in the darkness that scares me. Another thing that drives me insane about my mum is that she’s such a gossip. You’d think for a now-single mother who’s absolutely skint and raising a rebellious teenager would actually want to hide some things. But no! She meets with the mothers at the community club and natters till her lips bleed, and when she runs out of things about herself, she’ll go on about me. And not good things either. Mum thinks I never do good things. Dad’s place isn’t much better either. Because I’ve never been there. When I was feeling sick of things I sometimes imagined it, a huge house with cobblestone flooring and a clever kitchen where dad could make us both breakfast. A huge garden, where we could run around and make barbecues. A tree house just for us, or maybe an attic loft, with sit in windows to see the amazing view. Perhaps we’d have a dog, with long shaggy fur because mum’s allergic. We’d take it for walks and then come home to our deluxe, spacious living room with plush leather seats and cushy furnishings. The musty beige shade fluttered against the window next to my bed. I sat up, my hair a wild backcomb around my head. I was hot and flustered, staggering to the window and ducking under the shade. I threw up the latch, towering over the streets below. Lights were blinding, flooding the pavement. Cars rushed past, leaving wisps of smoke and echoes in their places. I stared dolefully into the black void, with streaks of light blurring my vision. Were those tears? No. I furiously wiped my eyes with my pyjama sleeve. I don’t know any more. All I know is I could use somebody.
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