The sun lit up on me as I awoke in my bed, bringing out the beauty of chastity in the pink hues of the glittering wall. My parents like to hate the fact that the walls are white. In their opinion, the walls should be a different color. I was so startled when Mom burst into my room that I nearly jumped out of my skin.

She said, shutting the door behind her without turning around, "Get out of bed; you have school."

Turning my head against the opposite side where the door was on the left, I faced down on the pillow. Screaming in annoyance since I need to follow the rules.

'Whatever. " I responded as I tried to be as calm as possible. I carried out my mother's instructions.

I rose from the bed to brush my teeth, make my bed, and do my hair. Although I didn't care which outfit looked nicer, I selected one for the day. I knew how to pair dark blue jeans with a red flannel shirt. My pink rubberized clogs were missing for some reason.

I've looked through my entire room, including the bathrooms and other guest rooms. The rooms, according to my parents, are open to anyone they know who can stay there. I'm not supposed to be in the guest rooms, so I must have broken that rule. So, I guess I must take responsibility for my actions. Josh, my older brother, came by the room and saw me browse through the entire guest room, where he'll obviously be ratting me out.

"Wow," Josh called out. "If Mom and Dad see you there, they'll be outraged."

"Shut up."

He shook his head, unconcerned about what I thought. What I saw through his green irises was pure hatred. As a sibling, he was like a bedbug, always sticking his nose where it didn't belong and following me wherever I went.

"Guess I'm gonna tell them now." Josh dashed down the corridor, heading downstairs. I followed, trying to stop him from telling on me.

My mother cut me off as I was about to say something as if I were some illness that shouldn't exist. 'What are you fighting about now?' She yelled from the kitchen.

I find it unbelievable that Mom, who is always busy and doesn't have time for me, won't recognize the issue. That's not the situation, though. Despite my anger, I paused to explain the situation to Mom. "Nothing."

"Mom, it was something," Josh says, crossing his arms as he prepares to spout every detail he will use to support his claim. "Elora's been in the guest rooms again."

" What? " Mom's blue irises widen as she reacts.

"She was there." He pretended that I went into the rooms for no reason.

This is what I have to cope with every day when he's here. I'm irritated by all the lies he says about me. "Please let me explain---"

"Elora Reese Ramsey." Mom resumed. "Your father and I literally told you to not go to any other guest rooms.

"I know, but it--" I've been stopped yet again.

Mom raised her palm to silence me.

"And you violated the rules."

Anger stems from the rage I felt. My skin was red as if I were on fire. "I'm sorry I was in the guest rooms. If that makes you happy."

"Don't speak to me in that tone." Mom makes a snide remark.

"Sorry."

Josh makes a sad puppy dog face, snickering after humiliating me.

I acted calmly as possible to search for the next words. "Where's my shoes?"

I found myself wondering as I began to fear. My heartbeat quickened. I can't go to school in my socks; they're the only shoes I like to wear, thanks to a gift from a friend. Even though she goes by Mrs. Chandler, we refer to her as "Mariah" to reflect her given name. For some reason, my parents instructed me to see her every day after school and once a week to go to therapy with Dr. Winstead. He is a close friend who knows what I'm going through. I once confided in him that my father had seen me messing around with the blue paint he had used to color the walls in the garage. I forgot it was open and accidentally pushed it over while it was on the shelf.

Flashback

Dad used to work as a mechanic, and he would always leave the house around five o'clock in the morning to get dressed, brush his teeth, and comb his black hair back. He barely has any hair remaining in the middle of his hairline. He always prepares himself some black coffee and French toast for breakfast.

Never put bacon, cooked or scrambled eggs, sausage, or even cheese on the bread. Nothing wrong with having it in the morning; I occasionally do it. After Dad leaves, Mom would depart to collect her paperwork for documents and make preparations for her own departure for work. She goes to my room first to make sure I'm awake in time to do the chores for the weekend.

"Get up, I put a list on the refrigerator for you while I'm gone for 4 hours." Mom reminded me and shut the door.

I dragged myself downstairs while sighing and rubbing my watery eyes. Doing all the tasks by myself is absurd. Josh needs to get off his underside and help me. On the fridge, I located the paper. As far as I can tell, it's a long roster. "You've got to be kidding me."

To-Do List:

Do The Laundry
Sweep And Mop The Floors
Scrub The Sinks, Tubs, And Toilets
Dust Off The Furniture
Mow The Front And Backyard
Prepare Lunch (Homemade Vegetable Soup)

I found that when Dad painted the walls in the garage, even though I did nearly all of the chores. He neglected to secure the cover. I unintentionally knocked the bottom over when I attempted to reach for it by climbing up on the shelf. The paint cracked and spilled all over me as everything collapsed.

"God, no."

It became very black later that evening. I had to take a shower to get the color off of me. I was dressed in my purple T-shirt up shirt and charcoal sweatpants. I did mop the garage to prevent Dad from yelling at me. Mom arrived home in time to see that I had followed the directions. "Looks like you've remembered the rules."

"Yes, ma'am." I consented only to avoid starting a fight.

"Where's Josh?"

"In his bedroom," I responded truthfully.

For supper, Mom summoned Josh downstairs and requested vegetable soup. I found it odd that we were all seated at the table eating the soup in silence. I'm debating how to interact with people without coming off as a doormat. The only people I ever desired to have were friends. I couldn't, however, raise all of myself in a group of people.

Due to my Walkman, I suffered mockery. What it means to me is beyond what kids my age can comprehend. Even my father didn't like how I always carried it with me. He brings the tools inside when he gets home and places them on the couch.

'Who did that to my garage?" Dad shouted.

How did he find out? I guarantee the paint wasn't on the ground. After using some to soak them to remove some of them, I realized that the paper towels have the best evidence. 'Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean it."

He then backhanded me for spilling the blue paint on the ground at that point. There was a mishap. He doesn't see bad mishaps, though. My left face carries visible scars. My eyes began burning so much.

"Get upstairs now!" He commanded me.

Flashback Ends

"Oh, I had to get rid of them," Mom says as she packs the suitcase and folders with the papers. She doesn't appear to be feeling any sympathy for my beloved pair of shoes.

God, I hated her. We didn't even discuss getting rid of the pink clogs.

"Why'd you do that?"

Mom groans. "You needed fresh ones anyway, Elora." Going back to her in the kitchen and going over the expenses. "Aside from that, they were growing too old to be worn out in public."

Mariah gifted me her shoes from a friend, so I didn't care that they were worn out. I waited a very long time to wear them because I had been told to wear them when I was older. Now, in a few days, I will turn twelve. I've had them on my feet since I was eight or nine. I've had them on my feet since I was eight or nine years old. Because my toes were a little too large, I was always conscious of how my feet appeared in public. Only the pink clogs would hide them. My heart broke like shattered glass. I felt as though someone had punched me in the sternum. That explains why I vehemently hate this family regardless of my beliefs.

I heard my father entering the house from the rear, where he was mowing the grass with the lawnmower. He smelt like weeds that tasted like onions and was extremely perspiring. "Going to work?" He asked Mom.

"Yes, dear." She replied.

Dad gave me the side-eye when he noticed I was upset and weeping. "What's the matter now?"

That didn't sound so conveying any sympathy in the tone he was speaking in.

"Mom threw out the shoes I was going to wear to school today." My cheeks were soaked as I cried.

"Grow up; stop whining about it." He uses a harsh command. "You needed new ones considering your old ones were half worn out."

I wanted to scream and tell him that I cherished those old shoes for so long, but I knew it was pointless.

Josh intentionally shoves me out of the way whenever I was in the middle of refocusing my own actions. "I'm gonna be heading to the game after school so It'll be later when I get back."

"Alright, but be careful." Mom suggested.

Ironically, I stomped back upstairs because I felt like I had no free will in this aspect of my existence. There were some books in the school library that I was interested in aisles for other shoes until she found the last pair of sandals on the hanger. The Fit Flop brand Sandal Lulu Glitter is the worst pair of shoes I've ever seen. It wasn't even my decision, but it was driving me insane. She made me like the style against my will. I agreed with a smile, noting that no matter what I want, my mother selects my things. Josh and Dad would hang out where the sodas and hot food is located. After spending time being bossed around, I was a slave.

Dad enters the room and opens the door to see me in the sneakers.

"Come on, hurry up and get to school."

"Alright."

I always walked to school and never used the bus or anything else.