400 word narrative

“How long do you think it’ll take? An hour? Just call me when you’re done”, my dad said, steering the car towards the curb to let me out.
“Come in with me! I need someone to talk to when I get my nails done. It’s awkward when I go alone”, I pleaded, not giving my dad the option to leave.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly lifted his leg out of the car, protecting his knee from bending. An old soccer injury, his knee cap was swollen and sore, but he shuffled his way into the salon to keep me company.

“You get all your stuff packed?” my dad shouted from his room upstairs.
I shoved the last pile of clothes into my bag and bounded up the stairs, plopping myself on the bed when I reached the top. My dad had on his ratty, green golf pullover that I usually stole to wear around the house and a pair of sneakers I only saw on him during our trips. He folded up my vest and stuck it in his bag, careful not to catch the suede fringe in the zipper. Dragging another bag out of the closet, he packed extra blankets and armfuls of snacks. He made sure as that as Indian Princess troop leader, he brought enough food that my friends and I could avoid the nasty cafeteria slop.

“Is he going to be okay?” I sobbed into the phone, collapsing on the ground as I mumbled to my mom.
“He’ll be fine honey, his knee just has an infection in it. I’m leaving the hospital now, I’ll be there to pick you up in about 20 minutes.” My mom cooed, trying to console me.

“I’ve never tried one”, I admitted, pointing to the gyro in the commercial.
“I’ve failed you! After everything I’ve taught you, you’ve neglected the gyro,” gasped my father in complete astonishment.
My dad was a big guy and wasn’t afraid to preach about how he got there. No hotdog stand had gone unvisited and no roadside sandwich shack was past by. It was my dad’s goal, no, life long mission, to teach me his ways.

I walked into his hospital room and was immediately crushed. His eyes appeared the color of the bedding, an almost lifeless green, when they had once been a bright and vibrant color. His hands, the light colored yellow of the table, lay limply by his sides. All I could think about was forcing him to walk the few feet to watch me get my nails done. I felt like I had been the one to put him here, in this coma-like state.

Plain Jane

1.
My Favorite Color- Grey

2.
The color of my room- Brownish Grey

3.
The color of my car- Silver

4.
I like tea. Earl Grey, to be exact. I never let it steep for long. It isn’t about the flavor, I just like the heat. In fact, I dislike all “flavored” tea. Nothing fruity, nothing sweet. There is nothing better than curling up on my white couch, pajamas on, TV remote in one hand, and my cream colored mug in the other. The steam billowing around my face, the warmth seeping through the mug and onto my hands. I am very passionate about my tea.

5.
There is one exception to my monotone life. I adore heals. My shoe collection is impeccable. From 3 inch, peep toe, cherry red pumps, to patent leather, black, stilettos, I have every pair a girl could want. I wouldn’t dare wear them out of the house unless to a fancy event, but I like to look at them. My favorite are my Betsy Johnson’s. 5 inches tall, they are completely impractical and thoroughly stunning. They are covered in black fabric with tiny, crimson roses. The best, most unexpected part is the underside of the shoe. A side that only I can see, but the side I love the most. It is a brilliant pink, overlaid with grey sparkles.

6.
Dream:
I am in my house. The lights are off and no one is home. My dad just told me about a secret part of the house. He isn’t actually my dad, he looks different, but I know he is my dad. I go in the secret upstairs. The lights are on. It’s a long hallway, with lots of rooms. I unlock the rooms and turn on the lights. Then I turn them off. I go down the hall a ways and see a boy. He is my best friend. I tell him that people are looking for him and that we need to hide. Then he turns into a werewolf. He is still my best friend. We go into a room to hide him. The room is actually a cave. We climb a rock hill and start to dig a hole. I get tired. I stop digging. I wake up.

7.
Even my dreams are boring.

8.
“Uh…I don’t care.”
That is my go-to phrase. Vastly overused, but always the truth. I never have an opinion.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” my friend will say, now annoyed by my lack of emotion.
“Sure, I don’t care” I’ll say back, truly meaning it.
Decision-making has never been my strong suit. I used to think it was because I was shy. I never wanted to state an opinion, afraid it would be wrong. Now I know the truth behind my indecisive behavior. I really just don’t have an opinion. I am neutral about virtually everything.

9.
There is one thing though that I am definitely not neutral about. Sleep. I love to sleep. Morning, night, afternoon, you name it; I’m up for it. I live my life between naps.

10.
“Come on mom, I seriously need help with this,” I pleaded, trying to hand her my college essay prompt. “I have absolutely nothing to write about..”
It had just dawned on me. I am lame.

11.
But am I really? Or do I just enjoy things others would classify as boring?
I don’t like color, but I love every shade of black.
My dreams never have a climax, but they are thrilling to me.
I sleep a lot, but I love my dreams.