Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
PicturesThe Normans lived in the second to last house on Averade Avenue. They had always lived there, even though the house was small and hardly kept in heat. The Normans found they could never part with the house, because it had grown on them in a way they thought the house never could.
"Marcus, would you please remove your undergarments from the dining table!"
Marcus Norman was a reckless fifteen year old. He had side-swept brown hair and dusty brown eyes that slightly shifted whenever he told a lie. His mother, Hope, was the exact opposite. She believed that a clean house was a happy house, and she made sure the house was spotless.
Marcus walked into the kitchen, surrounded by pictures of their deceased father that Sal, his sister, refuses to let them take down. He slightly scowled at the picture, and then sat down on the bar sear at the end. He always sat in that seat, because it allowed him maximum distance from the shrine of pictures that set the kitchen aglow.
"Mother," Marcus said, "what will be for breakfast?"
"Toast" said Hope, who was slightly distracted by the half-broken toaster. They remained in silence, as they always did, until Sal's presence graced the kitchen.
"Hello mother and brother!" Sal exclaimed too excitedly as she kissed her brother on the top of the head and sat in the seat beside him.
"Sal, I hate you." Marcus felt no remorse in saying this hateful statement, for it was true. Marcus had never supported his father's involvement in the military, while his sister praised him for it. She was 14 and he was 12 when they got the news of his death. Marcus had remembered that day all to well: the tears he refused to shed, the hurt expression on his mother's face, the pictures his sister had started collecting. Finally, thanks to his mothers remark, he snapped back to reality.
"Breakfast is ready."
They ate in silence, as they always did. Sal left for work, and his mother went outside to tend to the garden. Suddenly, Marcus had an idea, he would rid the house of those god awful pictures. He ever so carefully removed each picture and threw them into the trash. Pleased, he did his daily chores and anxiously awaited his sisters arrival. When she did come home, she immediately went to the wall where the pictures used to hang. With one hand on the now bare wall, she looked at her brother, and then at the kitchen drawer. She walked over to the drawer, probably to put away her keys, and then walked upstairs without a word. Marcus was pleased, he had finally made her sister feel the pain he had suffered all these years. And then, after ten minutes.of glory, he came to a shocking revelation. His mother yelled at him, possibly to grab the garden clippers that were carelessly lying on the counter, but he didn't care. He rushed to her room, and when he opened the door, he suddenly missed more than the pictures that used to be hanging on the wall.
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