A Day In The Life, InterruptedMature

I ran as fast as I could. I could see the outline of his body looking into the mirror, hunched over the sink. His skin was wet and he wore nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. I could feel the chilling wind blow in my ears as I jogged over the jagged sidewalk. I saw him pick something up from off the sink. My fear escalating, I run faster. I feel a step become intercepted by a converged sidewalk square and I fall to the ground, scraping my leg. Rivulets of blood sail across my leg, coloring my socks. I don't scream, even though by body desperately desires it. I try to stand back up, but can't, the pain won't let me. I look up at him, still so far away. I see something drip from his hands. He staggers away from the mirror and falls to the ground. I could hear the echo of my screams of grief perspire through the street.

A knock came to my door.

"Are you decent yet?" I hear Miranda's voice call out.

I run around my room, completely clueless as to where my clothes are. I make peace with a t-shirt and some shorts. I open up the door to find my now redhead friend walk in, an all-knowing expression on her face.

"So, how was it?" I blushed in response, memories of last night replaying themselves in my head.

"That's none of your business."

"It may not, but it doesn't mean I didn't see yours."

I return to my computer chair and have a seat. "It's been so long hasn't it?"

"Yeah, last time I saw it it wasn't even used yet," she chuckled at the memory.

I laugh along with her. The memories of us running through her house naked when we would get drunk off of her mom's poorly stashed booze entered my head. It'd been almost three years since we'd done that. Back then I didn't get crushes and Miranda's hair was brown. I'd never thought back then that I'd go through what I did in the past years. With Erik's coming out, Miranda's past forty-two hair changes, and my scholarship wars, the past seemed so far away.

"You going to see him after practice?"

"I might. Depends on what we have to do."

"Well I don't think you are, cause you're coming to this Archetype concert with me tonight."

I nearly jumped out of my seat at the sight of two green tickets for Bellow's Dungeon Theater in her hand. "Are you serious?!!"

Miranda shook her head as she handed me some bondage pants and a a wicked jester t-shirt from out my closet. "Get dressed, horny bird, We leave in a half hour."

There is a note that was left on my mom's bed. It sort of read something like this: "Awesome concert tonight. Can't make dinner. Be back tomorrow morning. Love David."

Though ironically, it probably won't make a difference. She's been working so many late hours lately and then would spend the rest of the night at a club downtown. She'd be pouring herself into the bed of a girlfriend around dawn, and would return home in the middle of the afternoon to prepare for work the next day. Typical summer weekend for a self-proclaimed MILF. Aside from her wild life as a thirty-something, she retains her maternal identity by trying to keep me and my father in high proximity over the summer. They broke up when I was nine. They'd been arguing everyday for the past three years until one day he had a what he calls now a 'lapse in judgment". He backhanded her. She beat his ass with frying pan and the rest was history. He moved back in with his mom, and my mom, despite his deficiencies in the parenting department, has been wanting me and my dad to have a close relationship. With him being seven states away, and also being an asshole, the odds were against her, and so far all she's done is have me dislike him more with each visit she sends me on. Luckily, due to a large argument last year, this summer she says I don't have to go. So now I've kept busy by spending time with my two favorite people, with my hellish summers with my dad becoming a distant memory.

Who is this couple in the black car that seems to resemble a flying bullhorn? What is this music that seems to be blasting through its windows? Who is that girl with the bright red hair doing with her head? Is she moving her head to the music or trying to shake a bug out of her hair? Who is this boy in the driver's seat who's doing a similar thing with his head? Why are they both dressed in black? Why does the person on the radio seemed to be screaming along with loud drums and screeching guitars? Do I know them?

I try to headbang as hard as I can without taking my eyes off the road. Cradle of Filth blasting from the speakers, Miranda's face dissipates behind her hair as she bangs her head to the music, her hands patting her lap to the song's drum beat. I think I feel my cell phone vibrate, but it's probably just the car. It tends to vibrate while I'm driving sixty-five miles per hour on the highway. Bellow's Dungeon Theater is only a few minutes away and I focus only on that, the road, and the sound of "A Fetus of a New Day Kicking" blaring into my head.

Miranda grabs her stomach, obviously feeling as if she's gonna bust a gut from laughing so hard. I stagger over to her, holding my own stomach, helping her off the ground. It's eleven o'clock at night and we still haven't made it back home from the Archetype concert. After stopping at two gas stations, a restaurant and a gift shop, the two psycho freaks of nature find themselves careening in a cemetery. Miranda had just tripped over some poor dead guy's tombstone and is too buzzed to care. We'd been running through this cemetery for hours, singing Archetype songs at the top of our lungs, our voices filled with the accent of intoxication. After her own special rendition of "Dead Eyes See No Future" atop a large hill, she jumps off dramatically, only to trip on the aforementioned tombstone and tumble down, roaring with laughter the entire time. Her gown was hiking up in the back and her makeup was running from the sweat, but I couldn't think of her as looking more cool than she did at that moment. She staggered toward me, her hair over her face. She then broke into a cousin Itt impersonation. I almost keel over in laughter, but was stopped by a loud screech of my phone.

"Where the hell are you?!" came a voice that I could easily tell wasn't my mom's.

"I'm out with a friend." I replied.

"Get your ass back home. NOW!" It was a man's voice.

"Who the hell are you?!" I yelled into the phone.

"I'm your father, dumbass! I came to visit you, now get back here. NOW!"

I hear a click. I turn off my phone in a enraged growl, my intoxication evaporating. I grab cousin Itt and make my way towards the car.

"What the hell does he think he's doing calling me and ordering me around like he's been around for the past decade?!!!"

Miranda looked at me in fear, her buzz gone. I don't think she's seen me this angry before. "I don't know."

"That good for nothing piece of shit!! I feel ashamed to have to call him blood. I shouldn't even be doing this right now! I swear if it wasn't for my mom, I would've told him off years ago."

She listened to me rant and rave the entire drive home. When I got to her house, she turned to me, her face tender despite her tousled hair and smudged make-up. "Thanks for coming with me today."

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, wishing she could come with me, "I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched her to the door and drove off, nearly flooring the car in a burst of aggravation, I didn't want to see my dad, but, unfortunately, he wanted to see me.

As I drove towards my home, towards my father, my mind flashed to the past. Visions of my parents enraged voices overlapping each other, hearing things breaking and smashing behind a wall. Memories of wanting to comfort my sobbing mother in the other room, restraining myself out of fear of my father. Then it fast forwards to the the past three years when I was sent to visit my dad for the summer. Memories of being called every five minutes of every hour of everyday to be ordered to do some meaningless task or household chore around the house that my dad just was too lazy to do himself: "Clean the kitchen", "Vacuum the living room", "Organize the video cabinet". It'd gotten so exasperating that a plea for a cup of ice water was a cause for parricidal plotting. In between those hours of labor that paid in aggravation and bitterness, I was forced to become a victim to my father's ignorant remarks. Preposterous theories of my disrespecting my grandmother by watching nonreligious programming and being jealous of my younger siblings because they didn't have to do chores all day like I did. The rage and ire that coursed through me those summers came rushing back to me, swelling. I began to push harder on the gas, watching the red pointer rise from thirty to sixty. I crank the stereo, my thoughts blanking in and out.

The world outside the car quickly turned into a fast-moving blur. I felt my thoughts race at the speed of the car. I bite my lip and push harder on the gas, pushing eighty. I find myself blinded by the headlights of the cars I'm passing. My car swerves to the right. I immediately yank the steering wheel to the left. Despite its speed, the car obeys. Against my will, the car proceeds to speed. I soar across a red light into a four way intersection. I see a large UPS truck driving perpendicular to me. I gasp in fear and begin to frantically honk the horn. The driver takes a glance at my car and darts his head back a half second later. Panic on his face, he swerves away, almost hitting the van next to him. The van turns swiftly to avoid the truck. It speeds off the road and into a stop sign, its horn blaring. My car and I are on the other side of the intersection, watching the accident in horror. I drive my foot into the gas, speeding away from the scene, not out of anger of my dad, but fear of a fine. I turn the corner and pull into a dark driveway. I was home.

The End

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