Choosing her heart by Morgan Ash

My eyes were glued on the already fallen part of my ceiling that looked like the map of some country–it definitely needed a new coat of paint. I turned to my side and my eyes fell on my wardrobe–I needed a new dresser as well, maybe a couple of shoes and a new door. Perhaps a bulletproof shower room.

I continued to make up silly scenarios in my head, while I waited for my parents to get home. It was Saturday and they still had to go to work. By they, I meant my mother. All dad did was drink his pension away and pretend we were a happy family.

I shook my head to dispel unnecessary thoughts, today was a good day people! I mean, I got out of high school last month and was going to check my mail today, my admission letter had arrived and we were going to do some family dinner to celebrate or.... not, either way I was scared shitless.

I wasn't a smart kid, my grades were average–I didn't want them to get better than that, call me crazy or not a serious minded student, but I was happy and that was it. I didn't want to be the 'smart' kid.

I spent hours on my bed thinking, turning and playing video games. Yes, I played video games and I wasn't the Barbie doll freak whatever. We kill zombies and fight wars. Of course, we did those things on TV and not reality. It was epic if you asked me.

I played with my online friends for a while before I decided-sorry, my tummy decided for the both of us that I needed to get my ass out of bed to do my chores and eat, like seriously I needed to eat!

I'm skinny, almost six feet tall and I mirrored the looks of a guy than a girl except I do some excessive make over, asides that, yes this is me.

I cleaned out my room, packed my clothes all together and put them in the dresser and made a mental note to sort them out later. I swept, cleaned, did laundry, then I proceeded to clean the whole house or my version of arranging, it looked acceptable anyways. I shrugged when I sighted a strand of hair on the floor. Glancing from left to right, I whistled and shoved it under the couch.

I walked into the kitchen, cleaned the dishes, swept... again, then finally I get to order pizza.

As you might have noticed, I talked a lot, that was one of my hobbies. I could talk forever, but I knew when to not talk at all.

My name's Katya Renua Greyson, I'm fifteen–an odd age... Yes, I know, but I didn't really look it. I'm half Nigerian, half black American–cool combo... That, I also know.

It took a couple of hours before I heard the jingling of my father's keys. Yay! Daddy was back and I was so excited–note the sarcasm. Hurriedly, I got up in an attempt to go hide in my room till my mother returned, but luck was not on my side because he had already seen me.

"Ren, I'm hungry." He growled, scratching his sweaty beards. "Make me dinner or better still wait for your mom to make dinner, you cant cook to save your life. I wonder what you can actually do."

Ladies and gentlemen meet my very sweet dad. Honestly, I wonder where I would be without him... Oh, I know, really happy!

"Are you even listening to me?" He snapped his fingers in my face and I took a step back. "I wonder how you went through high school and now college that's if you get in. I mean, my brothers sons could do bett-"

I cut my dad off by zoning off into a dark place in my head. This was a typical conversation between my dad and I–really loving family I tell you.

"Did you clean this house, Ren?" He questioned, snapping me out of the overdramatic yapping that was going on in my head.

"Yes, I did." Dry toned me.

"Well. Clean it again, Ren. You're a woman and I honestly can't understand how you stand dirt. I wonder all the time about the things you get from that mother of yours." He scowled. "I'm going upstairs to sleep. When I get down here, this place better be spotless and my food better be ready."

The light dims and he exits. My subconscious said and I rolled my eyes.

Finally, some peace and quiet. I got back to shooting bad guys on my phone this time, while watching some show about 'things to say before forty five'

It was a long time ahead, but... Oh, well. You need to have your bullets before you shoot right? Ha! now that's something to say before forty five. Just don't say it in front of a criminal though, that would end really bad.

"Hey honey, is your dad home?" Mom's voice almost scared the soul out of me.

"Jesus Christ, Mom!" I jerked, reaching up a hand to clutch my chest. "Do you want to kill me, when did you even get here, how did you get here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's not my fault your ears don't work even though you have them, neither is it my fault that I have quiet feet." She giggled, kicking off her shoes and retreating.

"Haha! Mom, so funny," I said sarcastically, resisting an eye roll. "Dad's home by the way, he wants the house more spotless than it already is and he wants his food ready before he wakes up, served in bed with wallpapers around the room so he feels like he's in Santorini."