-- The nearest coffee shop was a five minutes' walk away. The school was a ten minute drive away. On regular days, I would get my ass out of bed and walk over to the shop for the usual. A bagel, and a cup of coffee. I go there so much that even the cashier knows my name, and he's only been working at the store for.... 2 weeks? So I suppose that's everyday. But instead of giving my food to homeless people, instead of walking over to the shop to get the food, instead of getting out of bed fresh and early, I stayed in bed an extra fifteen minutes just for the hell of it. The curtain wasn't shut properly last night, so instead of welcomed darkness surrounding me and my bed, and especially my leg that's dangling over the edge, too-bright sunlight warms my room and makes my dirty clothes cling to my skin even more. Fuck. "Get up, sunshine!" My uncle shouts, and it's deafening. The 5"7 man beckons me over with a warm smile, outstretched arms, and a plate of food set onto the counter. "Hi, uncle." I wheeze out a reply and hope it's not too impolite. The pancakes glare at me with melting butter eyes, once a gorgeous perfect mellow smile turns into the ugliest frown pancakes could even muster. "What's with the pancakes today? Aren't you supposed to be at the shop?" I ask, actually curious. "I had an early leave! Walked by that coffee shop you always went to and then the boy... What was his name again?" "Daniel," I rasp out. "Ah, yes. He had a bag of bagels of a cup of coffee there for you, some present for your birthday or something. Oh, right, it's your birthday isn't it, Beatrice?" "Mmmm." "Well, he asked me to bring it to you. But hell if I'm feeding that crap to you, you're going to eat healthy from now on." The smile is still plastered onto his face. "How are pancakes even considered healthy, when you've drowned them in syrup and butter and even added a cherry to it?" "The cherry makes the difference." Wink. "Yeah, thanks." I get up in my sweat covered clothing and trudge over to the table, rusty fork and knife in hand. The broken porcelain plate stares at me intimidatingly, and carefully I take a bite out of the pancake and try not to gag. Too sweet "Ya need a ride to school today?" Uncle asks me while putting his coat and fedora hat on the clothing rack. I gulp the food down and hurriedly nod. "My clothes are all dirty." A quick change in subject, although I couldn't avoid telling him that. Uncle turns around and grins widely, and walks over to the cabinet of his and flings a whole array of kempt shirts and coats and pants. "Uncle, what the hell?" It's a surprise when he pulls out a t-shirt fitting me size that says "BABY GIRL" on it, and shorts that actually don't ride up my ass with a symbol of an ice cream cone patched up in the corner. "I always keep spares. You're not exactly the tidiest girl out there, Bea." My hands fly to my face and hide the red by slapping my own cheeks. Albeit a painful way to get rid of blushing, but still useful. "I'm done eating. Can you please hand that over?" Uncle gives me the clothes and I hurriedly run over to the nearest bathroom around, which was the compact bathroom in our small apartment, small but enough to fit a mirror sink and shower. The dirty mirror shows my blurred reflection, stringy black hair and all. My face is smudged with a bit of syrup which I rub at in a hurried pace with running water. I have to shower Clumsily, I remove my shirt and pants and undergarments and fling them on the bar and jump in, cold water dripping against moist, sticky disgusting unwashed dirty skin. -- "Bea! You're goin to be fifteen minutes late if you don't hurry up!" I sling my backpack around and step out of the door with grandpa, finishing off my hair with the dryer seconds before stepping out of the door. The stairway seems neverending upon looking down at the spiral, but it'll come to a stop eventually. It's the same as going up. The elevator would've come in handy, if it weren't for the repair man retiring early. The descent took longer than I thought, and upon look at my watch there was only two minutes left before I could make it. Fuck I'm going to be eight minutes late The parking lot seems to be even more compact than the bathroom when we arrive. Our car, a barely working truck, sits inconspicuously in the corner of the lot, brown skin and oil patches making her a beauty amongst all the other bright shining cars. Uncle calls her Bailey. "Hop in." I choose to sit in the back, like everytime Uncle drives me somewhere. The air seems polluted and more grey than usual. The school seems visible by now, dull bricks standing out against the even duller trees cluttering the area. "Tell Mrs. Vargo I said hi, will ya?" I nod, not enthusiastically, when I get off. Uncle waves a goodbye and I trudge into campus, heading off to class. -- "Would you care to explain why you're late, Beatrice?" Mrs. Vargo asks, scrutinizing my every movement and feature. I shrug elaborately and reply with a "my uncle said hi." Which, for some reason, triggered an uproar from the class. Mrs. Vargo turned red and dismissed me and I sat at my regular seat next to Miranda Cho, a fellow Asian who tried to sneak notes. "There's this amazing party this weekend. You should come." Is her nasally comment. I raise a delicate eyebrow and try to focus on the words Mrs. Vargo says, but the words hang in the back of my head. "Is it one of the freaky burlesque anime parties you like to attend?" Miranda goes pink at that. "No! It's fun... I heard they were going to bring in some..." she leans in forward, "illegal substances." I shake my head and pull out a pencil to jot down notes. Miranda frowns but persists, ending the "conversation" with a "talk to me when you change your mind." -- "So you had the balls to come in late, I see." Ruth Warren sits on one of the thick branches of our school tree. Her thick blonde hair falls down in a cascade of blonde curls, blocking my line of sight before I flick the offending strands away with my wrist. The freckled blonde only laughs at my attempt and does another flip, this time landing beside me on the grass. "You coming to the party this weekend?" "The one Miranda bugged me about?" "Yeah." "Well, are you going?" "I... Guess. Seems interesting." "Cool." I continue munching on the bagels Daniel forked over today. "You still haven't answered my question!" I stuff a bagel in her mouth and let out a breath, contemplating my choices. I had to feed Pierre, take care of kittens, save homeless people from self destruction, and do my job. "I guess." "Wear something nice, okay?" I nod, absentmindedly. I always favored food over people. ------ END PART 1 OF CHAPTER 1
Silverware doesn't rust. It tarnishes. Almost all metal utensils are covered in a thin layer of silver.
Teehee. The story is pretty good. Oh, but you don't need to go down two lines for a new paragraph. Do one and go nine spaces in (or press enter, then tab.)
They're not dirt poor. .__. They're just poor. Can't afford anything too fancy like a sexy cocktail dress or something. Doesn't mean they have to resort to using plastic utensils, because some plastics break quite easily. Use your imagination. As the author, I have the right to explain and elaborate on interpretations and tell you about implications in story, and in this case they're poor. .-. I'm not a genius when it concerns utensils or anything, sorry! Dx
Pretty sure if they were just poor they could afford silverware... Ah, I can't believe I'm getting into an argument about forks and spoons. (>_<)