Day One

We had left in the family car early in the morning. The whole drive was about four hours, most of which was spent listening to choir-music, a gratingly ugly type of music, especially after hearing the beautiful melodies created by The Beatles, Radiohead and Bob Dylan. My siblings seemed to enjoy it however, my little brother, Samuel, eight years old, sang along merrily, making me want to kill myself. It was not a good start by any means, but it meant I was very happy to finally arrive at the camping.

We drove all the way to the back, along a sandy path, where our hired camper stood. The camper was quite big, with three small bedrooms, a little kitchen and a living room with a couch and two tables. Not too shabby at all. We also had a small spot next to the camper with a large picnic tables and a barbecue, so we could enjoy dinner outside in the uncomfortable heat.

My parents took a bedroom together, as did my brother and sister, which meant I got a bedroom all to myself. For the first time in months, I thanked God for this, but not sincerely. Even if this whole holiday would be hell, at least I would have my privacy during the long summer nights. If I kept quiet enough, I could masturbate all my pent up frustration away. Also, I had been allowed to take one book with me; the complete edition of "The Chronicles of Narnia" by C.S. Lewis, the only fantasy books I was allowed to read because they had heavy themes of Christianity.

After I had unpacked, I grabbed a chair and sat outside to read my book. It wasn't long before my dad walked out and saw me sitting there. 'Why don't you go and find some friends, Stephen?' he asked in a slightly irritated voice. Even though he had given me permission to read this book, it was obvious he wasn't all too happy about it. A step in the right direction, yes, but still not good enough. If it was up to him, I would just be reading the bible all day.

'Let him read, Gerald,' my mother shouted from inside the caravan. She was fixing us up some lunch. 'I bet he's tired from the trip.'

'Fine,' my father sighed. 'I guess you deserve a little time to yourself for now.' He sat down on the picnic table with a glass of cold beer, and took a refreshing sip. Weirdly, **** was not a problem for their beliefs, as long as they didn't drink excessively. That boundary is not very clearly defined though, and I knew a lot of people in church who were barely functioning alcoholics. My dad was not one of them though, and often kept it to just one or two glasses a night. My mother was the same with wine.

My reading was cut unfortunately short half an hour later, when my mom came out with a plate full of sandwiches, juice, and milk. The whole family sat down to enjoy them, my two siblings laughing and joking, and my parents indulging them. It seemed I was the only one not happy about this whole damn holiday, and I couldn't wait to get back to my book, even though I wasn't enjoying it much so far.

'Is something wrong?' my mother asked almost accusatory, as she saw me slowly chewing a chicken sandwich. She didn't liked to be offended by our displeasure at her culinary powers, even more so because it was provided by "God" and we should all be very happy about that.

'No mom, just not very hungry, that's all,' I lied. 'Can I go back to my reading now?'

'We shouldn't let him, Allie,' my father said to my mom. 'He can't sit here reading his book all holiday.'

'Your father is right,' she told me. 'You should go out and play.'

'But mom...' I started, but got cut short by someone approaching our caravan site.