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the life of Lexi Lepper
I sighed as I rolled over on my shabby, half-filled air mattress. By 'birds', my dad means the chickens and ducks, and by 'get the fuck up' he means 'get the fuck up now or I'll come up there and get you up myself'.
You've probably guessed by now that my 'dad' is the angry sort. No, he's not just the angry sort; he's the drunken, violent, always-out-of-his-fucking-mind angry sort. And Me and Chelsea have to deal with it.
Me and Chels have lived with dad all our lives, here in Dorset, in a semi-attached house, with huge gardens, pity they were filled with poultry. Ever since that day Mum was kicked out, it has never been the same, even though Chelsea is the oldest of the both of us, I took over the mother figure. It’s me that makes sure we have all the essentials to keep ourselves alive. It’s me that gets up at goddamn 6:00am and feeds the scruffy little birds and collects their faeces covered eggs. It’s me that does all the cleaning and tidying, even though I suffer from severe Asthma. And it’s me that makes sure dad pays all his bills on time. I guess there’s no escaping from it really.
As I sit up, I feel a weight bump the side of my leg. I look to my right and see my lazy-bones of a big sister curled up in a ball with most of the duvet around her. That’s the problem with air mattresses, if there are two or more people sleeping on them at the same time, you have to make sure you balance out the weight, otherwise one of you ends up sleeping with most of your weight on your face and your ass sticking up in the air.
I gently shake Chelsea’s shoulder and she responds by growling and burying deeper into her warm, cosy sanctuary. Brilliant, she’s not getting up, so that means I’m going to have to make dads breakfast again.
‘Alexis Lepper! I swear to fucking god, if you’re not down here in 10 seconds, I will come up there and drag you down myself!’. Well at least he was blunt about it this time.
‘I’m coming dad!’ I shout back, causing Chelsea to jump a mile in the air.
I quickly strip from my holey jammies, and shove the nearest, bird shit stained items of clothing I can find on and make my way down the creaky old stairs.
When I get to the kitchen, I find dad standing by the sink, staring out the smeary window with a half-smoked cigarette in his hand. As soon as he heard the sound of my polka-dot wellington boots on the laminated floor, he swung his overweight, smelly body around and stared me hard in the face. I didn’t bother looking at him, I would only get a slap if he thought I was standing up to him, even if it was just making eye contact.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? You want me to walk you out there holding your dirty little hand, do you?’ he growls at me. I quickly shake my head, mumble an apology and make my way outside.
The harsh winter morning air stings my face and makes my eyes water and I stumble over the gravel driveway and onto the grassy part of our large garden. I notice the sun is still rising, the golden light sweeps through the sky and over the frosted fields surrounding us, making them look like each blade of grass is made of shiny gold. It’s ironic how beautiful my living nightmare can be sometimes.