Boring. Sundays were just boring. It was called Family Fun Sunday, but it was far from "fun". Ever since ma died two years ago, dad's been trying so hard to make us feel...well...I guess... happy. And perhaps too hard for my liking.
Todays the day were supposed to play scrabble and rummy and other crap like that, but it never works out. Never did and never will, mainly because of my older brother. Maybe he's in a cult of some kind. He's such a dark, brooding, depressing figure, you know, the kind that gets immigration all fidgety at the air port. But, he's always been like that, and only ma was patient enough to deal with him. We don't talk much, but he's there when I need him...except on Family Fun Sundays. He always slinks of before breakfast to hang out with his dull and creepy friends. (I wonder if he's the collage Goth?!) Then dad slinks off to go look for him. Then I am left to watch the house. Absolutely wonderful I tell you.
Sitting on my bed, staring out the window onto the main road, hoping to catch the familiar figure of my father dragging my brother by the fore arm (like a four year old, whining "No I don't wanna go home!" when being dragged away from the beach) when I caught a familiar sight. No, not my dad, but a kid, about my age, approximately 5"4 or 5"5ft, overly thin, black fluffy hair and thick framed hiding his shy and innocent eyes. I sighed. I never had gotten down to getting to know that kid. I mean, I knew his name was Cain Daniells, and we did occasionally wave to each other when we passed by, but it had been three years, and little progress had been made on the subject at hand. But soon, very soon, something was going to happen, I could tell.