Sample Chapter titled, "Teenager," from Wounded World

The Teenager
The White Blanket
August 19, 2001
Nathan slammed the door. Then because he was still mad, he went back and slammed the door three more times. His ears were ringing with the blood pounding through his head. The muscles in his arms were tight and he could feel the tension in his neck. He screamed as loud as he could. Then he punched the wall. The pain burst up his arm and into his shoulder. He looked down and could see he had broken his wrist. The agony was grounding, pulling him back down from his outburst.
His grandfather had insisted he go to church this morning and Nathan had demanded why he should go to church to worship a God that had killed his parents. His parents that had supposedly been serving this stupid God. He was sick of church, sick of the all the false people, and sick of the lying smiles. Everyone made him sick there. He felt a deep sense of oppression every time he walked through the doors of the church. He hated it and he hated the youth pastor and he hated all the fake Christians who were still hungover every Sunday morning from the wild parties on Saturday nights. The parties he was never invited too. Because his grandfather was the pastor of this stupid church in this stupid town of Walker, Missouri. He hated everything about this hick town and the kids who wanted to be nothing more than farmers. His class didn't have more than fourteen kids and each of them was so stupid, that they thought black people smelled funny. He hated them so much.
The pain in his wrist was moving from a stabbing pain to a deeper ache. He could feel the tears wanting to come, but he didn't cry. He didn't show pain. He would never tell his grandparents he had broken his arm.
He grabbed a hooded sweatshirt with his left arm and walked into the bathroom across the hallway. The parsonage was small and dark. The paneling on the wall was the color of dog food and absorbed the light from the small hallway bulb. The carpet was patchy and torn where it met the bathroom floor.
The house only had one bathroom; he shared it with his two aging grandparents. They were both in their seventies, and they were unable to control him. They had tried since he had come to live with them. He had been with his aunt and uncle on his mom's side, but he had been "too much" to handle. Then he went into foster care for a couple years, but that had only hardened him. His dad's parents had finally gained custody of him, and he had lived with them for the past six years, but it wasn't because they loved him. He had been taken out of foster care because it wounded his grandfather's sense of Christian pride and love. He had turned sixteen just last week, but all they had been able to afford for gifts were a Bible and some new socks.
Meanwhile, two kids at his church had turned sixteen three months ago and they both owned brand new 2001 Mustangs: V8's. And all he had was a stupid fucking Bible. He had taken it from them quietly and when he was alone in his room, he had thrown it against the wall. It still sat there, crumpled with the pages twisted and torn. He had thrown some clothes over it so his grandparents didn't see it. The families in his church always had nice homes and nice cars and nice vacations. He had spent the last six summers cooped up in his room with paneled walls. Crickets invaded every summer and in the winter, ice invaded and formed against the walls.
The only good thing about his grandparents being in their seventies was their medicine cabinets. They had lots of gauze and bandages; even a folded walker leaned against the back of the door, unused from when his grandma had fallen last winter and broke her left hip. She had been in the nursing home for three months; it had just been him and his grandfather at home. They probably hadn't said ten words to each other during that time. Nathan made his own food, did his own laundry, cleaned the dishes, and then disappeared into his room reading every book he could find, especially if it was about science. His grandfather stayed in the study at church, mostly preparing sermons or out visiting the members of his church. When his grandmother came back, she had been a ghost of herself. Her mind had slipped because of the pain medication and she spent most of her time in her chair in the living room until her in home nurse came to change her diapers and feed her. And his grandfather continued disappearing in his studies or visiting his members.
Looking around the bathroom, he found a couple wooden slats and placed them on his arm. The pain made him see stars and he lost the ability to breathe for a minute. He almost went to find his grandfather, but he bit his lip. He looked at it and saw that his hand was facing the wrong way, off by maybe five degrees. Realizing he would have to set it himself, he braced it against the sink and tried to twist it.
Wrong move. He was instantly sick and threw up in the sink, the taste of it mixing with the pain in his arm. He wretched for a couple minutes, tears now streaming down his face. Grabbing a hand towel, he wiped his mouth and the surface of the sink around the basin. Rinsing it all out with his left hand, he looked at his wrist. It was still off, but it looked closer to what it should be. Knowing he couldn't do that again and not pass out, he grabbed the splints and started to bandage his arm with gauze. When he had placed so much gauze on it he couldn't move his hand anymore, he decided it was enough and started to tape it up. It didn't look great, but that was why he grabbed the sweatshirt. It had been his dad's and on the front was a Bearcat for his dad's college.
It was ninety-two degrees outside in the summer heat at nine AM and inside they only had floor fans, but he knew he would be back to his air conditioned school in three days. He could suck it up and wear extra deodorant.
He went to check on his grandma who was drooling. Using his left hand, he wiped it up with the coarse white blanket she had on her. While his grandfather had been distant, his grandma had been sweet and nurturing. It had taken four years for him to open up to her and call her Nana. She may have been the only person in the world he liked. And now she was drooling. Another example of God's great mercy in this world.
His grandfather had demanded he attend church this morning or find a new place to live. His grandmother's eyes were vacant. She wasn't there anymore and it was cruel. She didn't deserve this, but her husband had said God valued all life so she had to live like this. Like a zombie. Live like the dead.
He looked at the blanket. It was thick and heavy, stained from the drool. He only had to provide her with some mercy. Mercy from the life God had condemned her to live. He covered her mouth and she didn't fight. She didn't try to save herself. She just accepted it. She let it happen. She had given up on herself and on him. And after a few minutes, she slumped, her breath was gone, and she was freed from the prison of pain he was in still.
He found the keys to the car on the hook next to the dusty red door. He could feel the heat of the sun through it. The keys were to a rusty Black Ford LTD. The suspension rocked too much and the car struggled to get over sixty miles per hour. But his grandfather had put a full tank in it last night and always kept a hundred dollar bill in the glove box. Nathan left the door hang open and walked out into the sun.