Oliver enjoyed art, or at least to an extent that he didn't hate it as much as other lessons. At the end he packed up his things into his backpack, which he slung over his shoulder, and hurried out of the door, heading toward home. On the outside, his home didn't look too bad, a two-floored, pale creme painted house with wooden windows and a tree growing tall outside. But when he entered, it changed. Beer cans were slung everywhere, and the place was a mess, reeking. He hurried upstairs, avoiding the looks his mother and father gave him, and began on his homework in his locked room, before deciding on an early night and falling asleep
