Trying to get rid of the thoughts, I continued to stare out the window thinking only of pleasant things.


Mark, my 25 year old brother was due for a visit soon with his wife; Lucy. She had blonde hair cut to the style of a bouncy bob, large green eyes framed with a collection of long eyelashes, thin golden eyebrows and a thin lipped small smile. Her figure was curvashious, yet slender; happiness was like a bubble expanding, taking form to her and others around her, she always wanted to please everyone, sharing out her spare time to be with those she loved.


Mark had dark brown, shaggy hair close to the length of Lucy’s, last time I’d seen him (being 2 months ago) he’d have a beard clinging to the contours of his chin and jawline-apparently his appearance matched to that of a pirate, or so I was told by others who had the pleasure of meeting him in person. His eyes were the same shade chocolate brown as mine were, he was of a slight build and he was always joking around with others. During the time I grew up with him, he always used to trick me into believing things that were obviously not true. Such as the time when he’d told me the vacuumed cleaner would eat me, and the time he told that if you pressed the button on the handbrake, then the car would explode. It all terrified me when I was younger, and it took a lot of persuasion from my mum telling me that it was all not true. I held a grudge against him for that for about three weeks, but I couldn’t keep it up, I admired him too much. I missed him a great deal when he wasn’t around, the house felt empty, especially since the three house members- Stephen, my father, Thomas my other brother and Mark- I had grown up with had departed.


 Me and my brother were very close to each other, I had another brother, Thomas, but I felt I understood Mark more. Thomas wasn’t always easy to understand. He had short, dark brown hair, small chocolate brown eyes, and a wide mouth of a grin. He was a medium build. Stephen, my father had moved out when I was a young age as him and my mother felt they had to go their separate ways. I still visited him every now and again though.  So when I was roughly around the age of five or six, my parents split up-I wasn’t really fully aware of it at the time, all I knew was that my dad was around a lot less than he used to be and I got more treats from my father than I had previously. I always felt that my dad was unlike any other fathers. He was a cool dad in my eyes. He loved rock music-even when he turned fifty years of age. His eyes were chocolate brown-which meant me, Thomas and Mark had inherited our eye colour from him. He had a long nose, thick black eyebrows and grey hair-which touched the tops of his ears. He had a small, thick, metallic loop earring which dangled from his left ear and had plenty of tattoos which spiralled up both arms-there was a tarantula, a scorpion and a snake. He’d often told me stories involving the tattoos, making them into characters. He was quite slim and always wore clothes that were slightly oversized for him-most of the time he would wear a pair of jeans, a top of some sort and a denim or leather jacket.

“We’re here,” my mum told me, interrupting the flow of my thoughts.

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