My parents felt kind enough to convert the attic into a bedroom for me before they left. I, of course, had the delight of decorating it. They left us five hundred pounds each to decorate our rooms and Zac managed to spend all of his on drink. It didn’t really surprise me.
I spent three full days decorating my room. From early in the morning till late at night. My room isn’t like any other attic conversion I’ve seen before. The whole back of the roof has been taken out and it has been replaced with glass. I also have a balconette. It’s a bit like a balcony but you can’t walk out onto it. What parts of the walls are left are painted aubergine and ivory. I have a king size bed which faces the glass roof. That’s where I’m lying now and will probably lie here until the shrill ring of my alarm awakes me in the morning. I have three fish, two cats and a snake inhabiting my room and making it a little less tempting for my brother to attempt to enter. I have the door bolted shut anyway.
The television in the corner is used as a distraction from the noise beneath me. The police will be arriving in an hour or so as usual. That’s when I might drift to sleep, or maybe attempt to tidy my room. I fear that if I move from my bed someone will hear me and realise that there is an untrashed room to destroy. Mum and Dad are returning any week now and Zac has the rest of the house trashed and will have to tidy it soon. I plan to stay in my room for the duration of that time.
When the party is over I usually hear Zac dander up the stairs, (if he makes it that far), and slam his bedroom door. That would normally have happened around three hours ago and the music is still left blasting. After he’s in bed I attempt to push my way through trampled cans, food, people and sometimes even pulled off doors or broken furniture. The music has been turned off tonight and Zac seems to have quietly closed his door. He must be in a good mood or else extremely drunk. In fact, I seem to be able to hear footsteps coming up my stairs. It’s probably one of his mates sleepwalking. I better go and make sure the doors bolted. Yep, tight. Let’s hope it stays that way. It sounds like someone has walked into my door. Would they be that stupid? Yes! I might try and get to sleep now. Why do they keep walking into my door? It is probably just Zac trying to freak me out. Yes, that’s all it is. I’ll ignore it and he’ll get tired. Won’t he?
I’ll walk over and open the door. It was Zac, he is now lying at the bottom of my stairs and he is covered in blood. I think he was banging his head off the door. I’m writing this as I wait for ambulance to arrive. This is so typical. You may be wondering why I don’t sound shocked or panicked. Mainly because this is the third time this week, but it really has nothing to do with me. I am going to leave for school and let the paramedics force their way in.
I said goodbye to Zac and stepped over his lifeless body, not having a care in the world. As I left the house, (on time), the paramedics came charging in and that was the very last I saw of my big brother Zac. He died in the ambulance. Don’t ask me why I don’t care. He never cared about me so why should I care about him. I don’t care if you find me shallow or horrid but you wouldn’t understand. Trust me, you wouldn’t.
By Amy Wright 11s
