Conflicted Addiction…

Below is a little bit from my novel Conflicted Addiction that has taken the back burner for way to long. So here it is. A snippet anyway. Do enjoy. BUT keep in mind I haven’t read this over or done anything with it since I wrote it so do be nice.

NOTE: If you followed my once excerpt blog you’ve already read this.


“Freak!” Echoed down the emptying hall. It came from Dani Lastings. A tall, for his age, brown haired brown eyed fifth grader.

The teacher, old hag Miss Harving, did nothing as usual. She used to be an excellent teacher but after five divorces, six kids, all with different fathers, sagging breasts, more than one bad hair cut in a row, and a cat that pees on her clothes, old Miss Harving couldn’t care any less that poor Andrew is picked on daily in her class.

Gathering his things quickly and effectively put everything away in his blue binder before putting his binder away in his backpack. His grandpa called it a book bag for which made perfect since to Andrew. However when he called it that his first week here poor Andrew was teased but what he didn’t understand was why? After all you do carry books in it so why not call it a book bag? Although backpack makes since also. 

Andrew hoisted his backpack up to quickly walk out to his but line. Taking his customary spot at the end of the line Andrew shifted his weight from one foot to the other pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Dani Lastings sneered at him before climbing aboard the yellow tunnel of hell that is public school transportation. The line quickly shortened and before he knew it Andrew stood at the black steps into hell. 

Rosetta Rodriguez sat behind the huge wheel a middle aged Mexican woman who actually laughed when Dani Lastings called her a wetback. “El gordo today you sit in front with me, eh! I like your fire!” she said that day. Today she smiles down at Andrew, one tooth missing, “Come on chico delgado! I do not have all day your señor.” 

Breathing a heavy sigh Andrew climbed aboard. The chaos that is fifth grade on high from the upcoming weekend bombarded Andrew as he walked up the steps. Paper wads and pencils flew across the hell tube. Madam Rodriguez closed the doors and pulled away before Andrew could find his seat in the back. 

Dani Lastings and his friends took up the middle of the buss. The fifth level of hell. Swaying with the bus Andrew half fell onto a Patricia Wells. The prettiest girl in fifth grade. “S-s-sorry, P—p-p-patrc-c-cia.”

“Aww poor little Andrew can’t t-t-t-talk.” Dani Lastings teased. His friend sitting next to the window knuckle bumped him laughing.

“Shhut up, Dani.” Patricia whined. “Leave Andrew alone. He’s like never done anything to you, ok.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder texting on her new iPhone. 

Andrew past through the fifth level of hell with various taunts, name calling, and a piece of gum spat him from the smallest of the group. Near the end a foot appeared out of nowhere and tripped Andrew. He landed hard on the ribbed black surface that makes up hell. His face landing in something that once lived on the bottom of someone’s shoe. 

The fifth ring of hell laughed at him.

Taking his seat at the back Andrew watched the landscape. He listened as his classmates are dropped off at their suburban homes. Ones that he used to share with Mom and Dad back in Maryland. 

Everyone filtered off the yellow tunnel of hell Madam Rodriguez happily claims as a ray of yellow sunshine. Everyone except the fifth level of hell and Andrew. 

The bus rocked and heaved along the uneven road that led to Andrew’s house. Finally the yellow tunnel of hell screeched to a halt. The folding doors swinging open to regurgitate Andrew Bran Callahan. Once again Andrew passes through the fifth level of hell. Teased. Ridiculed. And tripped. 

“See you later Annndrew! Go have fun all alone in your little shack!” Dani Lasings called out of the window. 

Walking the dirt path towards the trees Andrew thought he saw a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye but alas nothing was there. Like always. Nothing. Sighing heavily Andrew made his way through the twenty foot deep tree line before popping out the other side to a luscious tree lined drive. Wild flowers bloomed uninhibited along both sides of the drive. And there walked Andrew. Another half mile to go before he reaches what is now home. 

The large cottage style house greeted Andrew atop it’s slight hill. The river rock chimney puffed a small steady stream of smoke. Grandpa’s red 56 Chevy truck sat in the garage. It’s shiny red paint reflected from the sun. The Chevy’s white pinstripes gleamed. The silver high polished. An overall well taken care of truck. 

Andrew walked up flagstone steps to the front door. Quietly closing it behind him Andrew walked up the oak staircase to his room at the end of the hall to the left. Second to last door on the right. Light blue walls, beige carpet, and dark furniture met him. 

Opening his backpack Andrew placed his books on his desk facing the bay windows before opening his closet and hanging his pack on the proper hook. 

Returning to his desk Andrew sat down in his desk chair he pulled open his file draw and pulled out a few sheets of sketch paper. Selecting his favorite blue pencil from the pen draw he moved his books out of the way. Settling in Andrew took a moment to admire the view from his bedroom window. 

The lawn extended for over an acre. The yard boundaries marked by the towering pines. Beyond that over one hundred twenty acres. All owned by Andrew’s grandpa. He keeps it as a sort of preserve. Andrew could see the glint of the river in the distance.

Putting pencil to paper Andrew began to draw. 

Young Andrew drew his savior. 

The big white cat with soft chocolate brown eyes and white flawless scales. A huge cat bigger than any lion or tiger he’s ever heard of. A truly magnificent creature to say the least. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Something he always remembers while drawing. 

About Lor Rose

I am an author and press owner. The articles are posted, the writing is never done, the house is a mess. It's time for a nap.

Posted on Thursday, August 23rd, 2012, in Excerpt, Heterosexual, Romance, Writing and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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