A Pride of Werecats

Chapter 6

Cale's POV

The way my brush slipped over the canvas. It was addictive. I couldn't stop but it was also shameful. I snuck supplies into the attic whenever I could but I always felt like I didn't have enough canvases so I painted on the backs of them and if I was really desperate I would have to paint over something. 

Even the roof was painted, a beautiful fantasy scene of floating islands. It only looked good from one angle though because of the rafters. But on that angle I was transported to another place. Somewhere beautiful and another worldly. I hadn't given it a name but there it would be perfect and there wouldn't be sports that kids were forced into. Only adventure and magic. Wouldn't that just be perfect?.... and unrealistic. 

Even in Harry Potter they had Quidditch. I needed to reread those books. Maybe I'd find someone I'd relate to.

My painting had taken a strange turn. A red forest. It was almost gruesome, the leaves looked like flesh and organs and the trunks like vertical rivers of blood pouring from them.

I would be painting over this one. I stepped back from the painting. 

Today had just thrown me off. I needed to be here more than ever but not to paint, just to sit. All on my own.

I collapsed on a dusty armchair I had managed to lug up here a few years ago and just looked around at what I saw. Everything was beautiful even if it was a futuristic concrete jungle or a simple bubbling river. But all were devoid of beings. Even the cities. So empty and alone. What did that say about me?

I didn't get time to contemplate because I could hear my dad pull up in the driveway. I quickly and quietly slunk out of the attic and closed the stairs. And my closet.

Always hide the shame in the closet.

I turned the TV on in my room, flipped through, for the sport then jumped down on my grand king sized bed and got comfortable to make it look like I had been there for a while.

Really I wasn't paying attention to the game at all I was listening to what was happening down below. My dad was walking up the stairs. He was going to come into my room. I turned the TV up drowning out the sounds of his footsteps.

As expected the door to my bedroom opened.

My father strutted in. Blonde hair, suit and the arrogance for 12 people. 

"Very good."

He gave me a nod before leaving.

Such an awkward interaction. But everyday he just had to check up on what I was doing. Making sure I was being the perfect son and all that.

About two hours and a few sketches later it was time for dinner. I slumped barefoot down the steps and into the dining room. There was a huge flat screen that pretty much covered the wall that the dining table was facing. It had always seemed to me like the perfect tool for brainwashing. If I were tied up all I would have been able to see would be that TV. The table itself was a little too forward thinking and postmodern, its curvy chape only allowed three seats. My step mum had taken my real mum's seat and she looked quite comfortable and at home there but it was beyond bothering me now.

"How was practise this morning," my dad asked me as we had started dinner.

My mouth filled with acid, I forgot to go "Well... I slept in but I made up for it by running to school then... when I got home I was studying the '94 grand final."

He stayed silent. The worst possible reaction. I was so nervous I couldn't eat, I didn't even move in fear the slightest movement would piss him off further and I'd be a shame to the family.

"After dinner head down to the oval and get some kicks in," he finally replied, deadly calm.

I didn't say anything for the rest of the meal, only nodded. 

No questions about the test. They both didn't know and didn't care whether I passed or failed. The caring was all of my own intuitive.

***

I didn't stop practicing my goal kicking until it had become too dark and too cold. I doubt I would even be allowed inside my house if I dared to show my face before then.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and tucked the ball under my arm and began trudging my way back home. The field was dry and devoid of grass for the most part so it kicked up dust onto my boots. 

My legs were heavy from all the kicking. I would have preferred to spend the night studying maths or just anything but skipping training was always a huge deal, what did I expect. To be understood. Of course that wouldn't happen.

My boots made a scratchy sound as I walked over the asphalt of the empty car park. 

There was the sound of quick footsteps that cut through my thoughts. All my hair stood on edge as I peered through the darkness to get a glimpse of what made the sound. It was big and glowing eyes looked right at me. I would have thought it was a dog but it was way too big to be a dog. 

I froze waiting for it to react but it continued on it's way sinking into the bushes off the park.

My heart was racing. I ran the whole way home not stopping for anything.

I couldn't wait to paint this.

Meow Myths,

What was that? 

Leave your mythical comments for me~

First published - 19/4/18

Meow for now