I flew fast and low over the terrain, my fingertips lazily brushing the treetops. My wings flapped once, and I shot up. I spread them out wide and looked down upon the land that was mine to fly across, mine to fly on, to fly over, to fly. “ROCCO, GET UP, YOU’LL MISS BREAKFAST!” I started, whacked my head on the top bunk, and looked around. The same old, gray, drab room I’d slept in every day of my life with Jamie. I groaned.
“Hey Rocky!” The hyperactive 4-year-old otherwise known as Jamie poked his head over the top bunk. “You haveta get up or Mama’s gonna get mad.”
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to be dragged to Mom’s endless shopping,” I said as I pried myself out of bed.
“Rocco, Mom says to get your butt out of bed and to the breakfast …show more content…
That’s all I am. Just a simple, normal eleven-year-old boy. A kid living in a normal 3-bed house who has to share with a 4 year old with ADHD. Anyway, I’m sure he has ADHD. Half sure. My 16 year old sister soaks up all Mom’s attention with her superior EVERYTHING. She always manages to get herself out of trouble and shunt the blame off to someone else, usually ME. Jamie is four and so hyper it’s like he ate a whole gallon container of sugar. I have to hide any candy I squirrel away in my room, or he’ll eat it and get even more hyperactive. Yes, that’s possible. Dad died when I was around 2. I can’t remember him, and that sometimes makes me sad, but not …show more content…
In 5 minutes the tingling had strengthened to pins and needles. I squirmed uncomfortably.
“Rocco, is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“No.” If I told her, she might think I was something really was wrong and go home and freak out. The pins and needles began coming quicker, and a LOT more painful. Every fiber of my being wanted to move, kick, scream through pain. But I forced myself to stay absolutely still. Then swords and knives started piercing my back, and I couldn’t stay still anymore. I screamed shrilly and flopped over the seat belt.
A haze of pain decended over my vision and hearing. I could hear Mom’s voice from a long way off, like I was underwater, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I could only see white. The seat belt retracted from around me and I curled into a defensive ball, my arms wrapped around myself, reaching for my back where the pain was concentrated. I could barely feel something jutting out of my left shoulder-blade, a shape I couldn’t make out.
The knives and swords were becoming axes and spears. Now I know what being stabbed in the back feels like, I thought blearily. I closed my eyes tight, not wanting to see through my white curtain. My mind was becoming slower, not thinking exactly straight. It always did that right before
“Hey Rocky!” The hyperactive 4-year-old otherwise known as Jamie poked his head over the top bunk. “You haveta get up or Mama’s gonna get mad.”
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to be dragged to Mom’s endless shopping,” I said as I pried myself out of bed.
“Rocco, Mom says to get your butt out of bed and to the breakfast …show more content…
That’s all I am. Just a simple, normal eleven-year-old boy. A kid living in a normal 3-bed house who has to share with a 4 year old with ADHD. Anyway, I’m sure he has ADHD. Half sure. My 16 year old sister soaks up all Mom’s attention with her superior EVERYTHING. She always manages to get herself out of trouble and shunt the blame off to someone else, usually ME. Jamie is four and so hyper it’s like he ate a whole gallon container of sugar. I have to hide any candy I squirrel away in my room, or he’ll eat it and get even more hyperactive. Yes, that’s possible. Dad died when I was around 2. I can’t remember him, and that sometimes makes me sad, but not …show more content…
In 5 minutes the tingling had strengthened to pins and needles. I squirmed uncomfortably.
“Rocco, is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“No.” If I told her, she might think I was something really was wrong and go home and freak out. The pins and needles began coming quicker, and a LOT more painful. Every fiber of my being wanted to move, kick, scream through pain. But I forced myself to stay absolutely still. Then swords and knives started piercing my back, and I couldn’t stay still anymore. I screamed shrilly and flopped over the seat belt.
A haze of pain decended over my vision and hearing. I could hear Mom’s voice from a long way off, like I was underwater, and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I could only see white. The seat belt retracted from around me and I curled into a defensive ball, my arms wrapped around myself, reaching for my back where the pain was concentrated. I could barely feel something jutting out of my left shoulder-blade, a shape I couldn’t make out.
The knives and swords were becoming axes and spears. Now I know what being stabbed in the back feels like, I thought blearily. I closed my eyes tight, not wanting to see through my white curtain. My mind was becoming slower, not thinking exactly straight. It always did that right before