Mistletoe And Wine

Heaven Upside Down

So I recently went to my first Marilyn Manson Concert! It was amazing! I was so worried when the prop fell on him, but glad I got to see him before it did. God, I want to meet him so bad. But I guess my imagination will have to do for now. Here is the beginning of a new project I thought of. Hopefully someone else will find it worth while haha. If you do read it, please let me know what your think!

"Dad, no!"

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

"Thomas, stop!"

"I said SHUT UP!"

The deranged man has sweat and tears rolling down his face. His dirty blonde hair is matted down, his hand pointing the gun at his family shakes violently. His head is tilted to the side a bit and his striking blue eyes are staring his wife down, teary and mad. His lips tremble as he tried to steady his weapon.

His pale blonde wife knelt to the ground beside the Christmas tree, shielding a two year old boy from danger the best she could. He was wailing and flailing his arms in his Thomas the Train pajamas. Crouched beside them was 17 year old Stella. Her arms were around her younger brother and her mother and she pleaded with her father.

"Mom didn't do anything," Stella tried to reason. "None of us have!"

"They are gonna come for us," her father cried. "I can't let them take you," he said to his wife.

"Who, Thomas?"

Thomas didn't reply at first, just looked around and continued to sob. He seemed to be lowering the gun when his breathing picked up again and he started straining so hard his face turned red, and the veins in his neck began to make themselves known. His gun snapped to attention. "I won't let them take you!"

The mother practically threw her son at her daughter to get him out of the way. Stella grabbed onto her brother and fell into the tree, feeling a sharp pain in her back from the plastic trunk holder, just as the gun fired the fourth shot. Thomas emptied one more round into his wife's chest before taking a step back.

Stella screamed with her brother and held him against her chest. Thomas dropped to his knees and cried huskily, before picking the gun up again. Stella began to climb to her feat, still holding her brother, to try and make it out the door while her father was worn out.

"Wait," she heard him say when she neared the door. She probably shouldn't have, but she paused and waited for him to say something else. He twisted towards her and met her eyes weakly. "Don't let them get you."

"Who?"

"The Demons with the Red Jackets."

Stella didn't even get a chance to question it because she immediately had to turn around and cover her brothers ears. Thomas had risen the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger, setting off the last round.

*******

One Month Later:

The social services lady was an older woman with redish orange hair cut in a Bob, and she wore a bright pink skirt and blouse over a white shirt, with ugly matching heels. Her face was beginning to sag, but she seemed to try to make up for her youth with purple eye shadow and a deep red lipstick. She clashed so much it sort of hurt Stella's eyes. However, she had seen worse things than clashing colors.

The lady Ms. Janice, was nice enough. She kept a tin of butter cookies in her office for two year old Will to snack on, and offered Stella a cup of tea she kept in a jar. Once, Ms. Janice had accidentally handed Stella a cup of whiskey. Ignoring the fact that it was incredibly funny thinking of Ms. Janice being a drinker, Stella had politely recommend that the elderly woman purchased some new glasses. It had reminded the woman that her red framed glasses were on top of her head, and she apologized profusely.

This time they did not go back to the Half Way house they had been living in for a month. This time, Ms. Janice had a 'better' place for them to go. That is where they are just now: at a two story (plus attic) white building with a chain link fence and a cement pathway breaking up the mixture of grass and dirt. It wasn't too nice, but it wasn't bad either.  The snow was piled high against the sides of the house making it look like giant freezing pillows.

"You wouldn't believe the trouble I've went through to keep the both of you together," Ms. Janice said as she opened the gate for them. "Especially you, Stella. It's so out of the ordinary for anyone to be willing to take in a child who is nearly 18. I've done you quite I favor not making you stay at that shelter."

Stella stayed pretty quiet for the most part as they approached the door. There was a sign on the door that had some Psalms verse displayed proudly and Stella felt the quirls of dread swirling inside the pit of her stomach.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble: Psalms 46.1

Ms. Janice makes an appreciative humming sound at the plaque. "They are a bit religious," she warns. "But they have always been good foster parents. I'd stay away from the neighbor boy though," she continues, thrusting her chin towards the house to the right. 

"What's wrong with the neighbor boy," Stella asks, peering at the house while Ms Janice rings the doorbell.

"He's very peculiar and I wouldn't want him influencing you or your baby brother." 

Will was currently passed out, with his rosy cheeks resting on Stella's shoulder. His mouth hung open and drool trickled out. His mop of blonde curls were getting long and occasionally the boy would swat at his ears when the hair would tickle them. Stella didn't think a peculiar boy would be any bad influence on her brother, he wasn't easily influenced at all. But then, peculiar didn't always mean bad, did it?

The door swung open to reveal a stout middle aged woman with her dark brown hair pulled back into a messy thick bun. Her brown eyes seemed to match her brown dress. She was really rather plain looking. No make up, but course hands and raw natural age and hard work still seemed to keep her youth. Better than Ms. Janice.

"Hello," the woman said. "Janice, I wasn't expecting you until this afternoon," she exclaims.

"It's a quarter to 11, Marge. Close enough, I think," Janice replies.

"Yes, yes," Marge eyes the teenage girl. "Where are your things?"

"In the trunk, ma'am," Stella says.

"Well, hand the boy over and you go get your things. I'll send Paul out to help you."

"Thank you," Stella says and hands Will off to the stranger, albeit uneasily. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. She turns on her heal and heads back to the car to retrieve their belongings. Not long after a boy about nine years old bounds outside. His brown hair is cut in layers and his brown eyes look prettier than Marge's.

He wears brown coveralls and a white long sleeve shirt under them, and a big white smile. "Hiya! I'm Paul!"

"I'm Stella."

"Nice tah meet yah! You can give me the heaviest one. I'm strong!"

Stella almost chuckles as she hands Paul Will's suitcase. The boy frowns because it wasn't very heavy, but doesn't complain when Stella extracts the handle and wheels to her own suit case.

Ms Janice left them in the care of their new guardian not long after, and Stella felt more no more welcome here than she had at the half way house they were in before. She hoped after some food and sleep things would be better.