Dark Side of the Court - Original Writing
As the searing sun slowly set in the attractive ginger hued sky, a
rusted and ramshackle vehicle laboured along Oakland Hill Road in such
a manner that it seemed as if it weren’t meant to reach its
destination. What now seemed a worthless hunk of scrap to onlookers
used to be a vibrant red special edition Ford, though so much time had
passed that it had little resemblance to what it once was, besides the
shape. It had been serviced a few times in its fifteen year history,
the last one being almost six protracted years ago; the year ‘she’ had
left the two who were seated inside, amongst the filthy interior.
The owner of the dilapidated Ford was surveying the road for the
correct house, number 62, as the two had only recently moved from
Boston to Philadelphia. Out of the open window on the front
passenger’s side popped a small, pale white hand, which motioned as if
it were pointing at something.
‘Look dad, there it is,’ muttered the son, who was quite obviously not
overjoyed at the event.
‘Ah ha, finally we made it, eh Timmy?’ exclaimed the father,
attempting to ignore his son’s attitude.
Timmy, or Tim for short, didn’t give an answer but was amusing himself
by avidly watching a faded green leaf fall gracefully from the tree in
front of their new home; a modestly sized semi-detached wooden house,
which had belonged to a friend who had recently moved abroad. With the
car finally at rest, the two stepped in front of their new home. There
was an uneasy silence between the two whilst they unloaded the car in
an almost machine-like fashion.
'I sure hope I have the key!' Tim's father chuckled to himself. Once
again there was no audible reply. Quite obviously, Tim was not amused.
He was, like their car, a discontented fifteen year old. His father
had been a cold man in the past and had only really tried to bond with
him after his mother died. Tim was old enough to remember for it was
only a few years back. His father had been anxious of how to handle
the situation; he wasn't prepared, and it had showed. Nowadays, it was
as though he were trying to make up for the lost years of affection.
Their new home was certainly deceptive, for the humble veneer the new
owners saw on the outside hid what was literally an undecorated and
unfurnished dump. 'What a mess! I wondered why it was so cheap, '
Tim's father moaned, with an extra and more amplified grunt after
every scandalous new area he saw. Tim searched around the piles of
junk that the previous owner had conveniently left behind; old and
faded pictures, worthless souvenirs, and virtually undecipherable
notes. The piles of useless items lay as a mountain range of great
defiance. The only things that weren't either filthy or broken were3
two lone items residing in the corner of the...