The Lonely Chronicles I

“F**k!” I breathe as I hit the wall.

I hear a sharp crack and know that that’s one arm broken. Damn, how the hell I am I gonna pass this one off to Sherry?

I doubt she’ll care at all to be honest. She never does. Just listens to my explanation, shrugs and walks off. The smell of stale cigarettes and too much vodka floating behind her like a cheap perfume.

 

It didn’t used to be this way. I used to come home and she would be standing in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, baking something. She was the classic stay at home mum.

Dad would be in the study, finishing off a new council plan or some other s**t, but he’d rise and greet me with a hug when I walked in. That’s the part I miss the most. Not the baking or the smiles but the hugs from dad. He was warm and always smelled faintly of the outdoors and safety. It was a strange but comforting combination.

 

The imbecile in front of me brings me back to the present with a shove and a toss of his disgusting dyed blond hair. He unzips the backpack he pulled off me a few minutes ago and tosses its contents the ground. My precious mixtapes and photos fall to the ground and are coated in dirt instantly. I was planning on showing them to Mr Hicks, my favourite teacher today. He was the only teacher at this school who ever seemed to genuinely care about me or my wellbeing. I’d worked all month on the tapes and the photos were all caught during a weather phenomenon. Those were shots I was never going to get back.

 

The imbecile picked up one of the tapes and read its name aloud. “The Lonely Chronicles I.” He and his moronic cronies snickered.

“Lame.” He called shoving the tapes in my bag and throwing it at me. Clearly he deemed them unworthy of theft. Thank god for that, at least SOMETHING might work in my favour today.

With his last comment, off the dickhead walked, idiotic friends following closely behind.

I slump against the wall, cradling my injured arm and cursing silently at everything. F**k you life. F**K YOU!       After a few moments, I stand and begin walking towards the nurse’s office. It’s going to be a hell of a long day.

 

 

 

 

Arriving home that day with an arm that’s supposedly sprained, not broken, I know that Sherry is here. S**t.

I walk in through the front door and the first thing that hits me is the overpowering smell of musty cigarettes and regret. I kick the door shut with my foot and hear a yell as it crashes against the frame. “Julian? Is that you?”

“No,” I respond in a deep voice, “it’s the mailman.”

“Oh good! I was wondering when you’d show.” What? She’s screwing the mailman as well?

So that’s her old boss, her current boss, her boyfriend, her ex, and now the mailman. Great. Just another person I’ll have to avoid on the street. 

Author's Note

Please point out any grammar issues and I'll fix them. Also, thinking of turning The Lonely Chronicles into a series of short stories like this one. Do you think I should? Please let me know,
Georgia x