The Year to Come Part 3

Lexi Knight, Author


Written by: Lexi M Knight



Megan was so giddy and joyful to start anew with her resolutions that she completely forgot about the incident that happened just a couple of minutes ago. She planned on heading to her room immediately to note her mile-a-minute thoughts. Once she opened the front door to the dark ramshackle apartment she found, sitting in the chair tucked in the corner of the living room, her dad, looking conceited with his arms crossed and puckered lips. He interrupted her cogitation, tugged the lamp chain, and it flickered a few times until the light stabled. He basked under the dusty light and stared at Megan as she stood there like a deer in headlights, confused. He uttered out his first word and she recalled why she didn’t want to run into him when she got home.

¨Mrs. Jude called,¨ he stated.

Megan sighed.

¨She told me how much of a delight you were in class today. She couldn’t get off the phone; she just kept talking and talking and blabbing. She´s a real mouthful.¨

She stood there blank and stiff.

“She started testing my limits, oh boy she was. I wasn´t very happy with what she was telling me. Being in a bad mood already. I was late for work today, not that you care!¨ He slurred on every other word; he’d been drinking. ¨You never care, never ever are you help around here. You can’t even take care of Mr. Tickles… you weren´t even there for your mother’s last breath in that stupid hospital bed!¨ He was working himself up. 

He was delusional. Mr. Tickles passed away when Megan was six. “How was I supposed to be responsible for a cat at six?” she thought. Megan quickly went to er room to cool off and slammed the door in her dad’s face, locking it behind her.

¨I´m not done talking to you yet!¨

¨Yeah? Talking?¨ She mumbled behind the door. 

She took off her bookbag, turned it upside down, and let everything fall out, as did her sanity. She started snatching clothes off her floor and cramming it full in her bookbag with rage. Darted around her room, trying to find spare snacks to save for later, and found a couple of granola bars collecting dust in the box, and a half-eaten bag of popcorn that has remained on her bedside table to console her as she sat and wrote for hours. She went over and out of her windowsill, had a close encounter with a skunk, was crouched by a bush holding her packed bookbag and spare change in her pocket. She sat there dazzled by her lunacy, processing what had happened. Then she heard the sound of her door being kicked open. That was her cue to start running.

With no time to think, hair whipping inhibiting her face, moving one step at a time with no confirmed destination, she just had her feet guiding her next move.