Part Three
Alana sat on the
couch biting her nails. She stared at a picture of her younger
siblings, her mother and herself. “Why am I the only one?” she
wondered, staring intensely at the picture. That question had plagued
Alana her entire life. Her siblings all looked so much alike. They
looked just like her mother but she didn't. It was no secret. She
knew that she had a different father, but why was she the only one?
Her siblings knew who their dad was. Why was she the fatherless
child? Every family function or gathering, she would be the one to be
stared at and whispered about. Her siblings would tease her and say
that they weren't really related, or that she was only their”half
sister,” never whole.
Growing up in her home was hard, not as hard
as it was for some kids but still there were times when she just
couldn't take being the unwanted one. There were so many times that
she wanted to run away and she did. However, her mother or the cops
would haul her back home and once again she would be in her prison.
The guards were her siblings and the warden was her mother.
“This
isn't forever.” Alana would tell herself. One day she would be out
of Georgia and be happy. She even thought of looking up her dad.
Maybe he wasn't as bad as everyone had told her. From what she heard,
he was a criminal that didn't want kids and had no problem with not
being in her life. “You're not worth being around.” her brother
once cruelly told her. Twenty years is too long to not know if that
was true.
The front door of
their manufactured home creaked loudly as her mother walked in
complaining, as usual, about the people on her job and how busy the
supper market was. Alana rolled her eyes. She loved her mother, but
sometimes the sound of her voice was like a sharp blade stabbing into
her ears. She remembered sometimes praying to God that she would
either go deaf or her mother would lose her voice.
“You know it
wouldn't kill you to get off your butt and help me with the
groceries. You sister is helping!” Alana's mother shouted as she
walked towards the kitchen.
Alana's little sister, the sixteen year
old brat, took advantage of every time her mother's back was turned
and would flip off her older sister. Alana always had her own middle
finger ready first.
“Half sister.”
Alana said under her breath.
It was funny to her that she could only
put down her siblings when they didn't hear her, however, they would
sometimes scream at the top of their lungs about how much of an
outsider she was. The most she could do to their face's was give them
dirty looks.
(To Be Continued)
Copyright © 2012 by April Thompson
All
rights reserved. No part of this writing may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Author.
No comments:
Post a Comment