Backyard Serenade

one - intoxicated by the cab

Death by homework was at the top of my least favorite ways to die list. Right along with bleeding to death from paper cuts, which is what I'm practically doing. Yes, I have a least favorite ways to die list. Also, I have a favorite ways to die list, and drowning in chocolate ice-cream is number one on that list. But death by homework seems more likely than that.        

Oh how my teachers love to torture the students at our high school. They give a billion assignments that are due the next day, making all of us have inadequate amounts of sleep and screwed brains because half of this shit won't be on the test.

I glance longingly at my writing notebook, yet I don't make a move to grab it. Homework is the most important thing right now, unfortunately.

"Oh crap!" I yell, sucking the blood off of my finger. "Dumb piece of paper."

I stare at the homework with loathing. The total for number of paper cuts during this homework session has come to twelve.

My teacher, Mr. Jerk (true to his name), is making all of his classes do an origami assignment, how did it relate to algebra? I had no fucking clue. Maybe he did give us this assignment for a reason and I zoned out while he was saying it, but I highly doubt he gave us logical reasons if he did.

"Autumn, stop getting paper cuts! We might actually need band-aids for sometime in the future," my dad yells from the bottom of the stairs.

My father was the typical dad you see in TV shows everywhere, he was tall with blonde turning grey hair and a big nose. His complexion was fair but his eyes were green, just like mine. Awkward comic relief was his middle name; nonetheless, I love the old man. Some people say that we are so alike it's scary, like father like daughter I guess.

Rolling my eyes, I yell back, "Oh, alright. I guess I'll just bleed to death!" I hear some muttering at the bottom of the stairs. "What was that, dear father?"

"Oh it's nothing, dearest daughter," he responds. The sounds of his footsteps carry down the hall next to the stairs. Dad yells again, "I'm heading to the store for some stuff. Your mother and brother won't be home for a little while, his football game turned out to be a late start. They won't be home until ten or ten thirty."

"Get me some chocolate, pretty please!"

"Yeah, yeah." I hear the door slam shut.

Algebra was calling me, taunting me, You can't finish me, you'll fail at life. The crumbled pieces of paper in my waste basket were teasing me, so I snap, "I may fail at life, pieces of paper. But I will never be recycled! So ha!"

Even your comebacks are stupid.

Gosh dammit.

I'm about to give up, I've finished everything else so what was one measly piece of homework? That's until I hear something outside my window. It sounds like an acoustic guitar, maybe? Listening a few seconds more, I do realize that it's an acoustic guitar.

My backyard is nothing special. It was colorful as of right now, only because nature was preparing for the upcoming Fall season. Mom's garden, however, was dying out because she was too busy running me and my brother everywhere.

Two wooden swings held up by rope hung off of the same sturdy tree branch at the end of the yard; Brandon and I refuse to have them removed as we often sat there and had long meaningful conversations.

Lastly there was the fire pit which was near the walkout basement door, stone seating was placed in a round circle around the actual fire pit. So there was no reason for sound to be coming from it. My neighbors were older couples and even if they decided to play music, they are far away enough that I couldn't hear it.