Trading Down
Title: Trading Down
Author: InsolentScrawl
Rating: PG (very mild swearing)
Prompt: Fuel
Contest: October - 2nd Week, Brigits_Flame
X X X
The day Kermit and Megan Donovan arrived at their Uncle Bryce’s “house” in the Cascade mountains, Kert felt like they’d be better off taking a match and a five gallon can of gas to the shack. Made up of mismatched everything, the pale pink siding patching up one outer wall didn’t even match up against the graying, worn wood of the rest of the dwelling. Heck, massive cracks ran through most of the boards the comprised the front door frame.
That happened to be the good, well-structured part of the house. The roof consisted of everything from chunks of blue tarp to a mismatch of two-by-fours, plywood, with old tires holding it all down.
It certainly didn’t help that a massive Douglas Fir grew tipped sideways, straight over the roof, balanced precariously only by its roots.
“Cool,” Meg whispered in awe from the back seat of the jeep, laying her glove-covered hand across her big brother’s shoulder. More loudly, she called out, “Cool house, Uncle Bryce.”
Rolling his eyes in the passenger seat, Kert roughly opened the Jeep door, having to jiggle the handle in order to get the damn thing to work. Jumping onto the dirt road that ran up to his new home, he held out a hand to help Meg down, all the while glaring at his Uncle Bryce, who remained unmoving in the driver’s seat.
For half a second, Kert wondered what thoughts rumbled through his uncle’s head, before deciding he really didn’t care.
Truth be told, the boy felt nothing but anger towards his guardian for taking him away from the cacophony of the city. If he dug deep, he felt the same about his parents for leaving him and Meg. But the hottest rage in him burned steady for the drunk that slammed into his parents, killing them instantly. Not just killing them, though - no, the guy mangled them, leaving them agonizingly recognizable only through the process of dental records.
Stomping his foot, the petulant eleven-year-old stared at the cabin before grabbing his backpack from the rear of the jeep and marching over to the lopsided front steps.
“It’s open,” Uncle Bryce quietly stated.
Swinging open the front door, Kert could only stare in horror and mutter, “Oh crap.”
While the place might be clean, it consisted of only one room. A bed sat in the corner, made military-style, and a woodstove sat in the opposite corner. Two doors lay at the back of the shack - one he presumed to lead outside and another to a tiny room.
“Is there even a shower?” Kert peevishly asked, swinging his head around to watch his smiling sister and stone-faced uncle approach. “Or do I have to bathe in the local creek or pond?”
“I hope there’s no shower,” Meg enthusiastically replied, making Kert roll his eyes at the six year old once again. “It’ll be like Little House On The Prairie. They didn’t have showers or baths, either, ‘cept when they heated water on the stove. Do you got that, Uncle Bryce?”
Kert turned back to the “home” in front of him and finally got up the guts to step over the threshold before coming to one important realization. Not only did the cabin sport the smallest bathroom on the planet, by the looks of the old oil lamps hanging from hooks, it had no electricity.
“Oh crap,” he muttered, stomping in and tossing his backpack on the bed.
“Yours is upstairs,” Bryce quietly stated, pointing to a ladder conspicuously set at the back of the cabin, near the door. “Both of you have space upstairs.”
“Which would explain the low ceilings,” mumbled Kert, right before he heavily sighed. However, the thought of a little privacy had him grabbing his pack and ambling up the rickety ladder and into the dark. The slope of the ceiling made it difficult to climb through the small hole, and for a moment, he wondered how on Earth his uncle had managed to get a couple of beds up into the tight quarters. Unable to fully stand, the tall, lanky boy stood stooped over as he pulled back the dividing curtain. Tossing his pack on the mattress, he noted that at least his bed appeared nicely made, with a good quilt covering the top.
Dropping onto his knees, he stretched out for a moment, while his sister climbed into the loft, chatting away.
“This is soooooo neat, Kermit. It’s really awesome, ‘cause we get to be upstairs. I always wanted an upstairs, but we didn’t have one at home.”
Not feeling particularly kindly toward anyone at that moment, he replied, “Yeah, well, this is home now, so get used to it.” For just a moment he felt about as young as his sister when he added, “We don’t get to go home again. Everything we used to have is gone, so get used to that, too.”
Feeling miserable as Meg turned silent, Kert felt torn between wanting to hug her close and wanting to be left alone. He felt totally unprepared, though, when he turned his head away from the lone window in the loft to face her.
Instead of seeing misery in her eyes, he saw coals stoking hot and dark, glaring at him. “You don’t need to be a jerk, you know.”
The sense of being picked on by the world dropped on him like a massive weight, making the morose pre-teen feel a tinge of loneliness.
No one understood.