You threw your school bag in the ground by the door as you walked in. "I'm home! Not that you would care...," you added as an afterthought, immediately going into the kitchen to get dinner sorted early so that you might get some homework done afterwards.
As you cooked a simple stir-fry - you didn't want to go food shopping the next day without using everything you already had, so you had scavenged the fridge for half a cabbage and some beef that you suspected was over a week old - you thought back to the day's events.
Your school was beginning to suspect something was up in your household - if it could be called that. The school councillor had called you into her office the other day and temperately asked if something was wrong at home, saying that your bruised arms and face were a cause for concern. You had shrugged off her concern with a false sense of confidence, but it concerned you that things we getting that noticeable.
Your father lumbered into the room just as you were dishing up. He grunted in your general direction as he took the offered plate and sat heavily down on the patchy, uncomfortable couch in the living room, which you could see from where you ate your own food standing at the kitchen counter.
Your father was a big, burly figure, over 6' 5", with ragged, mop-like brown hair that was flecked with grey, and no matter how much he dyed it he couldn't mask his receding hairline. His beard was disheveled and unkempt, the same mud-like shade of brown; though, it was more grey than brown now, at his 'ripe old age' of 53. His eyes were narrow and beady, in a shade of brown so dark it was almost black. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and though made more of fat than muscle now that he was out of work, could still pack a powerful punch when he put the strength of his overly-broad shoulders behind it. His shirt was a few sizes too small, and thus showed a portion of his beer gut as he sat in his typical slouch, shovelling food into his mouth absently. He guffawed loudly and rudely at some obscene comedy film in the TV, food flying from his mouth as he did so, his arms repeatedly slapping the arm of the ratty couch.
You sighed and pointedly looked away from the TV and looked at the calendar hanging on the utilitarian fridge. Tomorrow was the 5th of September; your sister's birthday. You would go and get some flowers for her after school and put them by her grave in the back yard; you had long since accepted that your beloved sister was probably dead.
There were some beautiful yellow bell daffodils at the florist near your school. You would get a bunch of them, you decided, slipping your dirty plate into the sink.
"Girl, c'mere."
Your father's gruff voice made you pause in the doorway to your room. You backtracked down the hall and stood by the arm of the couch, pretending not to notice the scene playing on the TV. "Yes, father?"
"You're moving schools tomorrow. Can't afford the fancy-schmancy schmuck-fest you're at now."
You held back your disbelieving scoff at his use of the word 'fancy'; the filth-pile you were being "educated" at - note the quotation marks - was anything but 'fancy'. "Where is this new school, father?"
"Don't ask questions, girl, I'll tell you what I want to tell you," your father spat contemptuously. "Use your brain. The address is in the letter on the counter. Read it."
You bowed your head respectfully to hide the sneer of contempt and disgust that was rapidly growing on your face. "Yes, father."
"And get me som'more food, would ya?"
"Yes, father."
You grudgingly dished up another heaping plate of food - seriously contemplating the addition of bleach or turpentine, but ultimately deciding against it with a crestfallen sigh - and after delivering it you sat down on the uncomfortable wooden stool at the counter to begin reading the letter that you had not noticed before.
59 Patterson Street, Redwood Park. That was the address of you new school.
You sighed resignedly and trudged tiredly to you room, banging the door closed and flopping heavily onto your too-small bed.
No use doing homework now, you reasoned, plugging some staticky headphones into your outdated phone.
Please don't kill me. This will get better. Promise. X3