Frustration
Jeffrey sat perfectly still, gazing out of his open window longingly. His long, sandy hair flowed in the breeze and his baggy T-shirt danced in the air. It just wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he be out there too? It would sure beat revising for once. He watched his friends running, laughing down near the fields. They were having fun he scowled. Flying kites and playing “tig” his mates sprinted around wildly, whilst Jeff, crammed into his small box bedroom sat revising as usual.
Why did his dad have to be such a twit? He knew that revising would bring his marks up. He understood that. But surely having fun was just as important. Dragging his gaze from the window, Jeff licked his lips, scribbling down the answers to a bunch of equations which everyone, yes everyone knew would never come in handy.
Spinning around on his desk chair, Jeff stared at his bare walls. All his other friends had posters of girls and football players, but his dad just had to spoil that too. He said that they would just distract him when he should be working and that he’d have plenty of time for that sort of thing after he’d left school. But Jeff knew that as soon as GCSE’s were over, it would be A-levels and after that, University exams, the list went on.
He got up from the chair and walked out of his room. The hallway, like everywhere else in this d*mned house was bare white as if the family were halfway through decorating. That was yet another reason he’d never dare invite friends over. Most people would have thought that Jeff’s dad was poor, but the fact was that he was actually an extremely successful businessman and that was why he pushed Jeff so hard. He said that to make it in this world, you have to work and unlike most, Jeff’s dad was very keen on practising what he preached, another of his many mottos.
Jogging down the stairs, Jeff walked briskly into the kitchen to find his dad reading a newspaper at the table.
“Finished already?” He inquired, looking up.
“No” Jeff answered, pouring himself a glass of milk. “Just hungry.” His dad grunted and went back to the paper.
Walking back up the way he’d come, Jeff balanced his glass of milk in one hand and today’s telegraph in the other. He scowled at the white walls angrily and kicked his door open. If he could, Jeff would have loved to have brought a jar of paint home from school, simply to splatter against the perfect walls surrounding him. It was like torture being encompassed by their monotonous faces. He swore it was enough to drive you insane.
Cursing his dad once more, Jeff sat back down, pouring over the black and white writing before him. So boring. He hit the wall in rage and flung himself onto his bed. F*** him he thought. F*** his dad, he was going to sleep.