Intuition - C'est La Vie (Chapter 1)

C'est La Vie - CHAPTER 1

Morals are created to serve as some kind of protection against the impurity of teenage instincts. However, my parents never taught me anything about this whole “moral” deal. Though, what sort of mayhem can truly derive from moral deprivation anyway?

I've never had that T.V. childhood that society tries to convince us is the everyday norm. Instead I have a deadbeat father who left us when I was 12 so he could quote 'live the good life' with some bimbo in Las Vegas. And as for my Mom, well, she pretty much lives off of every prescription drug under the sun. The only decent thing that resulted from my parents’ pitiful marriage was the birth of me and my older sister, Emily. Although Em isn’t really the kind of sister you can depend on. She spends a majority of her time on street corners selling herself like it’s a fucking lemonade stand, 25 cents a fuck. But, no matter how much I hate her for it, she pays the bills.

As for me, I’m sure as hell no angel, but at least I’m not as fucked up as the rest of my family. I just graduated from high school, and was the first in my family to do so. My sister dropped out when David left my mom 6 years ago so she could take care of me. But I don’t have enough money saved up to go to community college, let alone anywhere away from this hell town. It doesn't even matter; this past year was the best of my life!

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"Mom, Ma, wake up! You passed out again," I rattled her arm to wake her up.

It was the fifth time she'd conked out after popping her pills that week.

"Wha-err, what? How long was I out for?" she murmured, then struggled to sit up for a few seconds before she gave up and plopped her head back down on the couch.

"A while. It's Thursday, Mom."

"Fuck."

"I got to get to school; you know the first day of senior year is kind of important. Try to do something productive today!" I shouted as I grabbed my car keys off the kitchen table and flew out the door.

I lit up a cigarette as I dashed to my car, flicking the lighter twice before the flame ignited the paper. I shoved the fag in the right corner my mouth, hopped into my lame excuse for a truck, and jammed the key into the ignition. I could hear the engine gasping for air as I repetitively forced it to start. After a good minute of tug-o-war, it gave in and roared to life. As soon as I was out of the driveway, I put the pedal to the metal and turned up my, already blaring, hardcore music.