Frances woke up to the same old smell of wet dog and stale beer. She scuffled down the hall in her night gown to do dishes like her mother would've but she wasn't her mother even though she looked a bit like her with the green hazel eyes and thin lips but she was spiten image of her drunk father, Robert Barn. Her little brother George began giggle when she came in. She smiled at him and yawned. It was only three twenty-four to early to get up but she wanted the house to be cleaned just in case the cops ever came or visitors (who barely come more than cops for noises in the house). Frances yawned and turned on the water to do dishes. Clinging around in them to put them a side to do one at a time. "What's that noise?" Her father came in holding his head.
"I'm cleaning daddy." She opened the curtain above the sink only to see the same piece of crap from years ago. Trailers and ugly old house with cracheads, beaten children, and drunk men on the porches. No one worth wild.
"Close those!" Robert yelled. "My head hurts!" Frances does. She looks at her father as he gets his last beer out of the refridgerator.
Frances washes more dishes then makes her and George breakfeast. She takes a quick nap then gets ready for school. Leaving she wonders about George and how he'll survive when her dad got drunk. She went on to the bus and people stared at her torn clothes and ragged hair. She sat alone in the front of the bus looking at peoples feet wondering why she couldn't have families like theirs who have real living moms, non-acholic dads, nice things, and a family who cares.
Enjoy the rest of my story this chapter is short only to show you her life in a summary of some sorts. Enjoy the rest!