Another day of walking home from middle school, my mother doesn't like it but what choice do I have. She works at a nursery and doesn’t have enough time to pick me up. Finals have also started and the kids leave earlier than usual. Along summer soon awaits, the heat that comes with it is already here. I’m not much a fan of the heat, or walking, but it’s mostly due to my eating habits that makes walking difficult. But during school hours and walkling it’s the only exercise I get to negate the eating issue. I enter the driveway and go through the back so the neighbors don’t notice me. They have gotten pretty noisy lately, their son goes to the same school and they aren't very fond of me. One day they followed me in their cars after I left the house. Nervous, I went around the block and back into my house, not going to school that day. The house is pretty worn down. My mother is too old to do house work anymore. I’m unable to reach very high and the latter doesn’t do a good job of supporting me. Entering through the back I carefully place my bag down, not to damage mother's camera that I’ve been borrowing. Everyday after school I'm left hungrier than the previous day, but I've been avoiding it to lose weight. The doctor warns me every visit. I venture through the fridge but nothing seems to interest me anymore, not the cheese, peanut butter or even ice cream. Looking into the closest does no good either, even my favorite snack oreos have gone stale to my tongue and can no longer quell my hunger. There’s no choice, one more day can’t hurt. I'll quit tomorrow. I head to the back of the house to the basement door. I slowly open the door and peer into the darkness below. There’s no going back now the temptation has already consumed me. I turn on the lights and head into the first room. The room stays as it had since father left us, it’s the only room in the house that remains clean except for the everlasting dust. My room personally is littered with manag and food on the floor. As I walk to the next room my hands began to throb, I reached towards the door handle. Past the door lays a glistening metal cabinet, as I stare saliva drools from my mouth. I place my hand on the cold door handle and turn it. But again it’s locked, mother has kept it locked ever since she found out. But that hadn’t stopped me. My hands shake with excitement which makes it hard to pick the lock. A much needed skill to learn. As the lock turns, sweat drops from my head as the locks turn and I begin to pry open the door. I pull out a can of paint and grab a hammer. The dry paint that once dripped from the side mocks me. I slowly open the lid carefully as not to spill. The condensed liquid that lays claim. the bucket’s insides sparkles in my eyes. I quickly dip my hands in the paint and take a drink.” The taste never gets old, as it slides down my mouth in chunks. No food could compare. As I sit devouring every last drop of the enriching flavor. As a last precaution I tip the bucket forward so the last of it flows out into my mouth, like a kid drinking from a kid. The taste still eched into my mouth. The paint drying against my throat staining it in flavor. A new feeling emerges, this time in my chest. The thumping in my heart goes deeper and harder. Another heart attack. It’s worse than last time, I can’t even get up. I’m stuck eyeing the ceiling. My vision grows dark, I might not make this one. My only regret is not being able to see those kids again before summer starts.

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