Ah, at last, the house to myself.
It's not often that I am allowed to breath in the quiet tranquility, the peaceful, uplifting joy that is an empty house. I sigh.
I look around my room. Oh no, the door is ajar ... no, wait, nobody's home, it doesn't matter. Muahahaha!
I get up from my narrow bed and stretch myself out. Ah, silence, my favorite sound. It feels a bit stuffy, what time is it, noon? Oh dear, a bit late, and He'll be getting back soon!
I opened the window and jumped to the mirror. My hair was in disarray, my nighty was on backwards! I wiped away the sleep in my eye and pulled on my gown. I hopped outside my room and breathed in fresh air. Freedom. Ah, freedom.
I hop down the stairs, two at a time. I stop four from the bottom and jump to the ground, twist my ankle and fall to the floor, I groaned at the pain though rubbing it did make it a little less sore.
Anyway, I got over this quickly. I limped joyfully into the kitchen, it looked bright and beautiful. The sun shone through the window, and I could see the garden. I'd never realized it before, but it actually grew flowers.
I opened the fridge. Ah, the freedom to snack. I pulled out the milk and drank straight from the carton. I pulled out the crab sticks, I ate straight from the pack.
The crab was a bit off, but that didn't stop me. I bounced to the cupboard and rooted for the Frosties. I found them in the end, though there were only crumbs left. I tipped them into my mouth, and threw back the box. This is my house, I thought, and I'm gonna be the boss.
Then I went into the dining room. I hadn't been there for years, though surprisingly the table wasn't dusty. He must be a regular. I felt uneasy then, I wanted to leave. His room, his house, there was no room to breath. But then I remembered my intention after all. I saw the piano in the corner and pushed my fears aside. Soon i forgot about who visited the dining room, and played Beethoven over and over, and finished with a spectacular BOOM.
I grinned at myself, that's the best I have been. I looked around and remembered Him, again, and wanted to leave.
I pranced back up the stairs, relaxed, bearing that great feeling of release. I ran back to my little room and roughly made the bed. I sat down on the duvet and cleaned up the weeks worth of clothes I'd shed.
Then I pulled out my leather-bound notebook, the one with golden pages. I flicked through my stories, I had ideas, imagination was back! I hadn't had this feeling in ages.
But then thats when I heard it. The hostile sound of His engine, as the Honda pulled menacingly up the driveway, like a monster stalking ... stalking its prey.
It cut off, suddenly, my heart stopped, my head bowed, my mood dropped, like a boulder into a puddle, I thought, why the f*ck!
I heard the keys in the door, and I continued sitting still. The door opened and I heard him step in. I shuddered at the thought of Him, a man of his age, with a mind like his. Hate circulated in my blood. It pounded against my ribs and rushed through my ears. I'd never wish death on anybody.
But ... AH WHAT A MAN!!!
A man you could call him, though Satan is better. I heard His stomping about in the hall. Our walls weren't thin, he was just VERY LOUD.
He hung up his coat. I heard it. He changed his shoes. I heard it. He walked through the kitchen, and put down the shopping. He didn't unload it, no, that was for me.
He went to the toilet, I heard it. He went to the dining room and drew open the curtains. I heard him drag my piano chair back under the table. He touched my chair! This was almost too much to bear!
Then he headed off upstairs. One stomp at a time.
Twenty seven times. Oh how my blood boiled. He dragged his hand up the railing as he stomped, making a horrible squeaking sound.
My freedom was gone. I had been a fool to think it was there. He dominated this house. This was his layer, and I was just there.
I suddenly hated myself for all I had not done. I could have stolen more food and hidden it in my room. I could have danced around naked, put the music on loud. The fact was, I wouldn't have had time, but that's besides the point. My point is, if I were a druggy, I think I'd be in serious need of a joint.
The man is worse than Hitler.
He walked into my room. No knock. No call.
'Still in bed?' he said. I looked down and then back at him. What did he think? I was sitting on my bed, looking through my notebook. What kind of question was that? 'Got a job yet?'
What did he think? He asked me last night. Did it look like I'd been out, looking for a job since then?
'No.' I muttered, not unkindly. I even managed the stretch my lips in greeting. I deserve a crapping medal.
'Well, what are you planning to do, stay in bed all summer? Time you got a job, now you've left school. Do something to earn your keep. I'll be expecting rent soon, and your not going to get away with letting me and your Mum pay for everything.'
'You pay for nothing, your retired!' I wanted to shout. I wanted to get up and punch him. I wanted him to get out.
'I only finished school yesterday.' I said quietly. I wasn't rude. I wasn't cocky. Oh he deserved so much worse ...
But it was too late, he'd already walked out of the room. He left the door wide open, I heard him stomp down the stairs. How could I think different, I was destined for this doom.
I got up and quietly shut the door, my hands shaking in annoyance. I wanted to punch the wall, but the bruises would look atrocious.
I sat down on the floor, and pulled my laptop on my knee, typing furiously to friends. 'Can't go out today! Yes him! No i can't go anyway! He'll throw me out! What d'you mean, "so what"?'
I waited for hours, there in the same position. I'd cooled off after a while, I actually grew grateful for the little sustenance I'd acquired.
I tried to think of a good thing, one good thing about Him.
I thought for a long while. It made my head hurt and my stomach sick to think of him.
One pleasant thing.
Something not bad?
Something respectful, or just something sad?
Did he ever help the community somehow ... not that I know of.
His own kids all hate him, I know that. His wives had all left him, that's true.
Oh what a guy.
Think of every word you can come up with to describe the worst person in the world, minus the brains and the power and desire to break the law. Hey wait, maybe if he did have those things, he WOULD be Hitler!
I'll start you off:
The world's biggest ******* ********** ****!!!
And then I sigh, and remember I'd gotten used to it. Ah, what a way to get it off my chest, you should try it.