This Particular Story Series Has Content That Some Might Find Troubling
Chapter 3 : No, You’re Wrong
“Hungry and sick…. It’s not right.” Margret sobbed out.
Chelsea, Elena, and I were shocked by how disrespectful she was being. We just ate sandwiches and played with a laser pointer that our parents gave us, and here is Margret trying to act rude because Andy is feeling sick.
“It hurts him, he says, when he’s like this. But they don’t help him.”
Margret was talking nonsense now. Father bandaged me when I had my wounds, of course her parents would help Andy if he has hurts too. She wasn’t thinking what she was saying and it was upsetting me. So, I told everyone to get up and move over to my room, I had some fun ideas to make a fort out of bedsheets and play under them. We did exactly that and had lots of fun for a few hours and Margret changed her mind about all the nonsense she was saying earlier.
Ms. Wilco and Ms. Hunter called down their kids at around 8 O’ clock and we all rushed down, because I wanted to see them off. At the door, Ms. Wilco apologized, as she always did, if her daughter had been any trouble and Mother would always look down at me and Elena and we both would shake our heads as hard as we could, because Chelsea was my favorite and always nice to us. Afterwards, Ms. Hunter would ask the same for her daughter and we would still shake our heads, because Margret is my second friend and an older sister like me, so I understand the struggles she has to deal with.
After they drove off in their tainted mini-vans, we helped Mother clean up the kitchen mess, and Father entered the house with four of his friends, as soon as we were done, announcing that he brought a tub of cookies n cream ice-cream with him. We immediately looked at Mother, as it was bed time, but we wanted the ice-cream. It seemed for a moment that Mother wanted to eat with us, but she quickly fixed her expression and said softly, “You know how it is girls, its time for bed. You can have it in the morning.”
Elena and I were a bit upset at this, but didn’t want our Mother to see it, so we politely left and skipped over to our bedrooms to get ready for sleep. Saturday nights were especially loud downstairs, with all the talking and laughing, and I bet that Father has friends that are just as funny as him. Thankfully, we are always tired this night and manage to sleep through the muffled giggling, cheering and hollering, into the strange place of our dreams.
Even when I woke up the next morning, I didn’t remember what I had dreamt about and I almost didn’t think that I did. Except for a feeling at the back of my head, as if I were trying to remember something.
Sunday mornings are quiet when we go down to watch T.V. Father sleeps in late and Mother goes out to spend her day with her friends. Sunday mornings are always the smelliest downstairs and had cups and paper plates scattered in the T.V room, which Elena and I picked up and threw into the trash bin in the kitchen, because the recycling bin was full of bottles.
Elena and I spent a hefty portion till the afternoon watching cartoons. We never switched T.V channels, because Mother told us that people put some bad stuff on it for not very good people. But we are good girls, so we don’t. I don’t understand why someone would want to watch anything but cartoons anyways.
Father eventually woke up and mother returned with the same people as yesterday, by around 5 O’ clock. We greeted everyone, ate some ice-cream with them at the table, Elena and I washed everyone’s bowls really fast so that we could play before its bed time again. Father sat with his laptop in the T.V room, Mother with her friends in the kitchen, and me, Elena, Margret, and Chelsea went up to my room to decide what to play.
I had this great idea of using our blankets and tying them like hammocks and using them as a swing set and see who can stay on the longest. Everyone liked my idea and while I was tying my bed sheet, Margret came over and said to me, “He’s still hurting.”
I stopped and looked back at her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I found this in a newspaper my dad was throwing away,” said Margret, withdrawing a small crumpled paper ball from within her pocket and began to open it.
On the small piece that she had apparently ripped off, it said: ‘NEED HELP, CALL 9-1-1.’
We all looked up to Margret and she was seemingly smiling.
“I think they can help Andy and me. Maybe us all.”
I felt really upset as she said this and started to get unfriendly towards Margret, which Chelsea saw and tried to pull me back.
“What the HELL is wrong with you, damn woman?!” I yelled like my dad, and continuing to mimic him, I pushed Margret with my knuckle, and she fell over by my bed, crying.
As Always, Picture Credits To Respective Creators