I hate going negative. I worked hard to keep my 3.27 K/D and this is killing it. Going 8 kills with 17 deaths is terrible. Just another piss poor effort to add on to the other horrible games I’ve had.
“Hey kiddo, I’m going to put your clothes away,” said my tiny, fragile mom as she walked into my room.
“Mom, just do it later, I don’t wanna be bothered right now. I’m just not in a good mood,” I said back to her. It was true. I’m not happy.
“Well Hun, I gotta do it sometime!”
“Okay mom, do it later. I just wanna play COD, leave me alone,” I snapped back. Can’t she just see that I’m in a pissy mood? She didn’t leave me alone, but continued to put my clothes away.
“Mom, leave! Go away!” I screamed as I stood up and began to push her out of the plain white room. We struggled a bit but I got her out. When she was an inch out of the doorway I slammed the door in her face as she turned back around to try to force her way in.
“You better open this fucking door this instant!” shrieked my mom, “Peter! Get up here and help me!” Great, she’s bringing dad. After a good minute came more pounding on the door.
“Son, will you open the damn door?” asked my dad. You can tell he’s only doing something because mom told him to.
“Dude, open the door. Mom and Dad are pissed,” said my brother Jack. Perfect, everyone is on my case now. My brother jimmied around the lock a bit before he swung the door open with everyone pouring in. My mom darted through my laundry drawers as if looking for a hidden treasure or some shit. She found my green and white pack of Newports.
“What the fuck?! How could you bring these in my house?” she screamed. My dad and brother knew I smoked. My mom knew too but she yells at me to stop constantly, like an itch that keeps getting worse and worse until you scratch it with a fury.
“Mom, you knew I fucking smoked!” I fired back, trying to show her I’m no longer a little kid.
She turned around and continued to search the drawers. “Why do you have this?” she exclaimed, pulling out my tin of Grizzly Mint dip. That sent her over the edge.
“What the hell is in here?” asked my dad as he opened my tin, unknowingly pouring out all the tobacco onto the carpet, as white as a cloud.
“Goddammit! Why don’t you fucking clean this up too?” I screamed as I threw my ice water on the carpet. In a fit of rage, I tore my blanket and sheets off my bed as I flipped it over, threw my video games around the room, and whipped my TV off the stand to the ground.
Jack came over to me and hooked my arms trying to hold me back from completely ransacking my room. We wrestled a bit and then broke out into a fistfight. I stuck him in the mouth and in the shoulder and he landed a right hook to my jaw splitting my lip before I pushed him into the corner of the wall.
My dad stepped in trying to keep me from fighting my brother. I exploded on him wielding blows to his head, chest, and stomach. I towered over his already small stature but he began to fall to the ground after he had never even thrown a punch. He hit the ground with a thud. After all the chaos, destruction, and the terrified screams of my mother, I had to leave. I ran to get my dark blue duffle bag and loaded some clothes into it and took off down the stairs. My mom ran after me yelling for me to stop but barely getting the words out between the tears.
I flung the door open and charged out into the cold rainy night with pajama pants, nikes with no socks, a North face, and a phone. I made it two blocks and took out my phone and called Dre. We grew up together and he’s the only one I trusted.
2 rings, as always, “Hello?” asked Dre.
“What’re you doing?”
“On my way back from driving Nick and Skylar home, how ‘bout you?”
“Why? It’s pouring out?”
“Yeah, I know. I got into a fight with my parents.”
“Damn, how bad?”
“Real bad. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
“Alright, hold on lemme call you back my dad’s calling”
I sat outside for about 3 minutes before he called. It felt like 3 hours. My phone starts booming my ringtone of Gucci’s Lemonade.
“Yeah, where are you?”
“On the corner of Newcastle and Carmen.”
“Alright, stay there, I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”
“No problem, Bro.”
Little note: this story was written when I was in high school circa 2012 or so. My writing has come a ways since then. Just thought it’d be cool to travel back in time.