Mornings, the Bane of the Teenagers Existence
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Let me get one thing straight before you continue reading the text before you: I am a Werewolf. Now that this is settled, I suggest you gently place this book back in its place on the shelf if you were looking for some cutesy fantastical epic. If it is not obvious from the title the entirety of this story is about my trying to live the life of a more or less normal teenage boy. That said, this is a hard feat when one has a damned tendency to chase squirrels, Frisbees, and balls or curls up in pain the moment a dog whistle is blown. But of course, I try.
If you have yet to replace this, shall we begin?
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All I could see was that dark gray you see behind your lids when not you’re quite awake but just don’t feel the initiative to get up, much less open your eyes. Course, this gray was all the more dark due to the fact that it was seen from not only beneath closed lids, but also from beneath my navy blue comforter covering my bed. Sadly I was not allowed to have an ever so silent morning for long. The small squeaking that announced someone’s entering my room proved that. Or rather, the sound of my bedroom door and the sudden weight on my ribs. With a low, canine growl I sit up in bed and thus sent the object formerly atop me tumbling to the floor.
“That was mean!” Kali cried indignantly as she stood to rub her head of blonde hair. Due to her only being nine the child was no more than four feet and eight inches in height. As children often do she resembled her parents – our parents, I should say – in a variety of ways. Platinum blonde curls fall down just past her shoulder blades and frame her supposedly ‘angelic’ face that held the ice blue eyes which, like those of our father, make people question whether or not she’s blind.
“Yeah, well, whatever… What would happen if I sat on you at,” these words were followed by my glancing to the sad alarm clock on my bedside table. Eight thirty it read in pixilated yellow numbers. “Crud…”
“Hahah, Shawn’s gonna be late!” My younger sister sang in a very high, out of tune singing voice dripping in annoyance.
At this point I felt the mixture of the lethargy of the morning and the annoyance for my late waking. This was not a good thing. Glaring to Kali, I couldn’t help but have a faintly twitching lip to show my ever so sharp canines. “I will throw you out if you’re gonna play that game this early in the morning.”
Giving a short wave, Kali made her departure. She knew my threat had a base to stand on… I had gone with it a few times, after all.
With the absence of Little Lady Brat, I made a sluggish attempt at my morning routine. I tossed the comforter and assorted other bed linens aside to swing my legs over so my feet could meet the floor. Soon enough I was standing before my closet, absentmindedly scratching the back of my head whilst my eyes milled over the clothes within. Eventually I replaced my sleep clothes with a pair of fairly loose jeans along with a simple deep grey T-Shirt covered by an equally dark hoodie. From there I trudged to the bathroom across the hall and began brushing my teeth, knowing any move to tame my hair would be a waste of time. The mane of mine was of a deep brown coloring with red toned glints thanks to my Irish heritage on my mother’s side. In terms of style it leaves much to be desired. A shaggy mess of a mop it was, waving in every which way, including over my face. This one fact was the one thing I was thankful for when it came to my hair: that it tended to hide my eyes. The reason for my gratefulness was due to the startling color of the two orbs. Behind my dark lashes a pair of bright yellow eyes flecked in gold lay, often staring out at the world in a half open state. Honestly, how many people have you met with yellow eyes? I learned the oddity of them early on and thus grew my hair out to hide it. Another fact I inadvertently keep out of view is my stature. My height, being a towering six foot four inches, is one thing I can’t do much with other than slouch. What I can conceal is my body type, which is oddly muscular considering my lack of activity and horrible diet. Though I’m no bodybuilder I carry muscle tone most football players envy. I even sport I nice little six pack, for all who would like to know. All of which is covered in faintly tan skin.
After the quick work on my teeth I made my way down the stairs and took a sharp turn into the kitchen of my home to see an oh so familiar female standing at the stove with egg containing frying pan in hand. Despite myself I crack a grin. It’s hard to believe I used to look up to see my mother’s face; the woman is nothing more than five foot four. It may be because of this fact she is often hit on by men far beneath her age, for she appears quite young, considering her age and bearing of two children. Pale blond hair of a curly manner was pulled into a tight ponytail atop her head, bangs straightened to lightly rim her face that holds a pair of golden, green flecked eyes. Above these are a pair of perfectly curved brows, and below lips always half smiling.
I mumble a morning greeting after I gave her a short peck on the cheek. Snatching a piece of toast from the plate on the counter, I turn round to lean back against the marble tabletop to chew the meager breakfast.
“G’mornin love!” Mom replied cheerfully. Cathy McLaughlin, my mother’s maiden name, had been born in Ireland and lived there well into her early twenties, explaining her still strong accent despite her moving to the states a few years prior to my birth.
“You meant to get up late again, didn’t you?” Kyle O’Neal murmured from his place at the kitchen table, lowering the upper edge of his newspaper so he could grin at me over it. My gaze turned to Dad, and I return the sentiment with a faint smirk of my own. In every way possible I resemble my father with the single exception of my eyes. He towered over most at six foot six, his messy brunet locks adding to his height. Again, though he was in no same league as any heavy lifter, he had his fair share of muscle tone and light tan. From behind his faintly more tamable bangs than my own he watched me with creepily light blue eyes.
“Possible,” I spoke, my voice trailing off. My words were followed by those of departure that, once met with nods from either parent, allowed me to leave the room and the house once a few essential items were retrieved from a place beside the front door.
After one last goodbye to all in the O’Neal home I exit. With one arm through the strap of my large army green backpack and the other gripping the edge of my skateboard, I take a moment to smell the world around me. The air is crisp and a tad in the chilly side. In this nice fall morning the breeze blew leaves of yellow and orange coloring every which way. My enjoying of nature was cut short just as I instinctively raise a hand. To no surprise I had caught a bright red Frisbee. This toy belonged to Billy, a local redhead that liked to bother me in the mornings.
“I’m gonna getcha someday!” Billy exclaimed as a smile spread across his freckled pace. I don’t reply, patting the blue baseball cap he wore as I passed. Within moments the wheels of my skateboard meet the ground and I’m zooming down the sidewalk.
Within a good ten minutes or so I reach my school, Troy High, home of the mighty Trojans… Yes, very original. One of the plus sides to living in suburbia is you tend to be close to whatever school your attending and can reach it in no time. But even with this fact I’m, sadly, late most of the time when it comes to first period. I’ll likely get yet another after school detention, which, might I say, is my twelfth. Odd, considering by the seventh we’re supposed to be sent to juvenile school. Weird, no? Something even weirder to some readers is the fact that despite it all I still take my time getting to class. I do have to stop by my locker and drop off my board, after all.
“You’re late!”
“Yep…”
“You’ll be getting another detention with me!”
“Yep.”
“You missed fifteen minutes of valuable class time!”
“Yep.”
This was my greeting upon entering first period History, only a slight variation from the one of the day before, and so on. Every morning I reply with a single syllable word repeatedly and walk to my desk, ignoring most everybody in the room. But oh so unfortunately, my routine was disrupted this fine fall morning by an ‘accidental’ kick in my leg given by a classmate. This student, like a few others in my school, was of the vampiric race. Notice I have thus far capitalized Werewolves and leave vampires lowercase.
“Sorry,” Cain Girard grinned from behind his jet black bangs that fell into his eyes, leaving only one chocolate brown orb visible. He sneered, smirk full of forming of fangs and eyes giving a quick black glint at me. I in turn raise my upper lip and give a yellow tinted glare of my own before finding my way to my workplace near the window.
God I hate mornings.
