I'm back! Not like anyone cared, but anyways!
I wrote on my wall that a DOAWK story was under works, and I think I'm finally going to go through with it! I've been working on it a bit before SA ended, which was in what, November? I finally have the time and guts to put this on here. Yippie.
I wrote this fic based off of the album Animals by This Town Needs Guns, which I don't own, and the chapters are named after different songs from the album, so it's pretty fun listening to it when you read, or if that's too distracting listen to it afterwards. The band is just wonderful.
So, let me shut up now and have a taste of this.
Happy reading.
Chapter 1: Zebra
Chapter 1: Zebra
The bottom of my feet had tiny red marks in the shape of circles from stepping on countless amounts of bubble wrap. I resorted to walking on the balls of my feet, to cut chances on making more unnessecery pops. I managed to maze my way through the labyrinth of moving supplies and fell down on my bed, groaning from exhaustion.
My family had recently moved to Canada from Vermont a few days ago, and we were just now settling in. My dad's sister just gave birth, and she needed the extra help; naturally, we stepped up to the plate. Moving to a new country wasn't as big as a culture shock as I thought it would be, then again, I haven't gone to school yet.
We moved into a two-story house, with a porch swing and a tomato garden. It was white and blue, and wood houses felt stranger than stone. I remember coming to this house on the third day, and I cringed. But, I knew I would have to get adjusted to living here.
I laid face-first on my white pillow, sighing and moaning, sore from walking up and down stairs with heavy loads. My room was naked at the moment, its blue walls shivered. I had a moat of moving boxes surrounding my bed. Due to home-sickness, I haven't slept since I arrived. I was so busy setting up the rest of the house, I forgot my main priority: my room.
I was just about to doze off when I heard my mother calling from downstairs.
"Piper!" She beckoned, her voice echoed through the stairwell. I again, moaned in response as I turned my head to my left, stomach still facing south.
"Piper, dear, I need you to look after your brother for me." She said as she stood in the doorway. I turned slightly and looked at my mother.
Melinda was a beautiful woman, one would call a trophy wife. She was curved and caramel skinned. She had thick, black hair that acted as a mane, yet tamed with mousse. She walked over to me, and sat on the edge of my bed.
"Why do you need me to look after him," I asked, sitting up completely. "He's thirteen."
"Well, I need to finish unpacking some clothes , and I'll even take out your things as well. I'll just place them on the bed for you." She persuaded. Her voice was like honey, but had an accent as well, some sort of pepper. It almost sounded lazy, yet hypnotizing.
"I suppose," I said, standing up and walking out of my room and down the stairs. "Thank you, honey!" I could hear her say.
I began to wash dishes of their packing peanut smell while Brian watched TV. He had his arm around the couch, and feet propped up on the coffee table.
"Get your feet off of the table!" I said, pointing a soapy knife at him. He turned around, showing me his crystal eyes that matched mine. He snickered, and did as I said. Brian was about thirteen years old, and was a good kid all-in-all. He never pulls pranks on me, nor do we hate each other; it's the tedious things he does that makes you irate. You just have to correct him, and he'll knock off his act. Still, as a little brother he did have that act to play.
I heard the doorbell ring, and I kindly asked Brian to get it. "I can't, Scrubs is on."
"You've seen this episode already!" I retorted, throwing my hands in the soapy water.
"I've suddenly became diagnosed with amnesia and need to watch it again." He said, turning up the volume.
I groaned and dried off my hands, the doorbell ringing another time. "I'll be there in a second!" I shouted, telling Brian to turn down the TV. I wiped access soap on my jeans and opened our teak wood door.
"Hello!" A woman says, holding a pie in her hands. Her hair was brown, shoulder length, and she sported spectacles. She had a mom appearance. "Are you the woman of the house?"
"Second," I said, shifting my weight on to my left side. "Oh, well, my name is Susan Heffley and I live right next door! I would have come over sooner, but I've had such a busy schedule. I made your family a pie!" She said, handing it over to me.
"Thank you," I said, accepting her offering. "Brian, come get this pie!" I asked, and he hurried on over and took it from my hands and off to the kitchen.
"What's all the commotion?" I heard my mother say as she came down the stairs. Mrs. Heffley just stared like any other person does. Some would assume she would be a friend or a cousin, but the small parts that made her older gave it away; her body, the smallest lost of elasticity in her skin.
"Are you the mother?" Susan croaked. She nodded.
"My name is Susan Heffley." She announced, shaking it off.
"Melinda Simpson," she said as they shook hands.
"I was just telling your daughter that I live right next door, and I heard you just moved here from Vermont, so if you need any help with anything, don't feel like you can't stop by."
"That's nice to hear," my mother said, lacing her mocha hands in front of her. "Oh!" She exclaimed, bringing one hand close to her mouth, "would you and your husband care to come over to dinner Saturday night? My husband shouldn't be working that night."
"That sounds wonderful!" Mrs. Heffley said, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Should I come around seven?" "Yes, seven."
"It's a date!" We then heard an atrocious sound of banging cymbals and out of tune guitars. My mother and I covered our ears, and Susan had a displeased look on her face.
"I have to go, my son's band practice is getting out of hand. I'll see you Saturday!" She said as she walked off after we waved goodbye. I closed the door and then turned around to see my mom was already in the kitchen, hands on their hips, and eyeing the pie.
"Canadian hospitality at it's finest; wouldn't you agree?" She said, looking up at me with her chocolate eyes. I smiled and looked down at my shoes, puffing out air as a laugh. "Well," she said slapping her thighs quickly and going towards the stairs, "I finished unpacking your room, dear. Just finish washing the dishes and then you can go set up your room."
Crimeny. I just wanted to finish my room, and go to sleep. Then again, it was still summer, and school didn't start until next Monday. Plus, I couldn't blame my mom for wanting my help. My dad was always at work, and Brian was no use at all. We never lived in a two-story house before, so it needed a lot more care than we thought it would. I quickly washed the rest of the dishes, and darted up to my room.
Like Melinda said, everything was laid out on my bed. I was a perfectionist when it came to organizing, so instead of picking up the pieces of my room off my bed, I aligned them, then started decorating; like the nut I was.
I placed my hair care on the new vanity that my dad made for me, and along with pictures of Vermont friends. Tacking band posters, such as Sublime and The Sex Pistols, along my walls, now clothed. I didn't have much stuff in my room, so it didn't take that long to get everything in order. I huffed, with hands on my hips, and looked at the finished product: I was pleased.
I took a shower afterwards. Thinking about it, I haven't gotten out of the house since I've been here. I was so busy trying to take care of the house, I haven't started my social life yet. I was an average girl back at home, I had friends, plans on the weekends; but then again, life was so much simpler out in Vermont. I was scared I would be stepped on like a caterpillar once I walk through the doors of Leaside High next Monday morning. If I don't want that to happen, I need to know someone who goes there, and fast.
I stepped out of the shower, dressed myself, and looked at my bed. It was love at first sight. I dove right on to my bed, and nuzzled my head against the pillows. Grabbing my tan, downy blanket, I made myself comfortable, and slept soundly.