Rolling Thunder

Chapter 1- Sure Thing, Sweetheart

Chapter 1- Sure Thing, Sweetheart

Ash's Point of View

There are a lot of things that are annoying in this world. School, happiness, curiosity, children, bright colors, parents; it’s a long list. However, the top thing on my list of annoyances will have to be my incessant goddam alarm clock beeping constantly in my ear. With every beep, it grows louder and louder until eventually, I can’t ignore it any longer, so I throw my hand aimlessly in the direction of the crescendoing alarm clock.

This time, I hit the side of it and it falls to the floor with a loud crash. As it falls, the cord is ripped out of the wall, so the beeping is stopped and my job is done, so I try to go back to sleep.

However, in my tired state, I forget that I can’t go back to sleep. It’s not because I care about school (because I don’t) and it’s not because I’m not tired (because I am) it’s because there is a constant yelling coming from down the hall and it’s so loud that I won’t be able to sleep again with that yelling.

“He doesn’t need therapy!” I can hear my mom shriek through the thin walls.

“He is a mess, Darlene, and you know it!” My father screeches back at his wife.

I wish that they were as easy to shut up as my annoying alarm clock. Just push them over and they’re silent, but parents aren’t as simple as alarm clocks.

Getting up from my bed, I stretch and then walk half-asleep into my bathroom that’s conjoined to my room. I don’t know why I have the master bedroom in the house, but I think it was a sympathy thing when we moved in to the house a few years back. After a short shower, I get out and brush my teeth while listening to my mom yell at my father about how much therapy could cost.

“We aren’t short for money, Darlene,” I whisper because I know exactly what my dad is going to say. They have this fight every morning and it’s almost word for word every morning.

“That doesn’t mean we need to waste it on silly stuff like this,” I recite my mom, rinsing my toothbrush off and walking back into my room with a towel slung around my waist. My hair was short enough to drip dry, but I could still feel the water dripping softly down the back of my neck a little bit.

Grabbing some clothes from my dresser, I throw them onto my bed and just like clockwork, there’s a crash from my parents’ room. Surely, my mom will eventually run out of things to throw at the wall that will shatter. She’s gone through all of her perfume bottles and picture frames so I’m not sure what else there is to break.

I get dressed- jeans, a band shirt and then my black leather jacket that I wear almost everywhere. It helps with the wind when I’m going to school and it’s comfortable, so I wear it a lot.

My hair’s mostly dry, so I run my fingers through it a few times and then grab my helmet before exiting my room. Going downstairs, I can still hear my parents fighting but it’s not as loud as it is when I’m upstairs. In the kitchen, my brother is jumping up and down in front of the open chrome fridge. He’s biting his tongue in concentration and his curly blonde hair is bouncing in front of his face.

“I can’t get the milk,” He whines when he sees me walk through the door.

“Then you should probably be taller,” I tell him, walking over to the bread box thing that we have and grabbing two pieces of bread. I throw them in the toaster as I watch Callahan continue to struggle for the milk that I’d put on the top shelf yesterday for this exact reason.

“I can’t just grow,” Cal informs me with a roll of his eyes. “I just want Cheerios.”

“You’re seven years old,” I remind him, walking over to the fridge and finally taking mercy on him by grabbing the milk and putting the half empty jug down on the counter for his use. “You really shouldn’t be that short.”