I looked out the window, the wind was howling, something had hit the window. I felt like I was being watched. I saw red tips of hair, flying in the wind, flailing about. It looked like those stremers you see on little girls bikes when it is windy or they ride really fast.
I jumped up, I yelled and flew against the wall, hitting my back. I was shocked, the wind was knocked out of me. I felt out of breath, the hair was gone, I slowly got up and crept to the window. I held my breath, expecting to find something completly horrible that would scar me for life.
Nothing was there, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a black shape running across my yard. I shuddered, maybe someone was just jumping our wall or something. My hands where shaking, I left my white room, littered with band posters, and started walking to the living room. I had almost past the door when I heard a snap and the sign that said 'Brandon's room' fell off my door.
I bent down to pick it up and an ice cold hand grabbed my shoulder and pushed me down. I stumbbled face first in to my carpet, I heard a snort followed by a shrieky sounding laugh. I leaped up and spun around, my short hair getting in my eyes. I wiped it out of my eyes, they were now watery.
Red tips, streaming past the living room. I sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, I became as small as I could get. The hair, the red tips, the color of blood, kept running though my mind, I knew no one that had red hair. Not even my sister had that red of hair.
I sat there curled up in a ball for what seemed like hours. Finally my mother came home. "What in the world are you doing Brandon, you are going to get your clothes dirty, get up!" My mother hissed, then she ran back down stairs.
She had company again, she would be with them for hours. And later when she was as drunk as a rock and stumbling every step she took, she would come up the stairs, rather fall down a few times before she finally got to me, and kiss me good night. Her putred breath would claw its way in to my nose, I would gag, and I would look at her and pretend not to care about her retchedness.
She was that way because for a while my dad disapeared, and later in the year was found dead. His tonuge had been ripped out of his mouth, as well as his treachea, and his large intestine(transverse colon) and had been brutally beaten with glass, it was stuck in his back. On the ground all of the ripped out body parts spelled a name, Celia, in ugly letters, she knifed it in his chest, and it wrote it in blood on the bridge that he was found under. I hear they tried to clean it off, but it never came off, just like the emotional scarring it left my mother, my drunk mother. Neighbors reported hearing screaming and shreaking, but the cops never got around to 'seeing in to it' like they said they would. And bravo, my father had been killed. It was in the head lines and every thing, "Dominic Stevens has been murdured, the killer has still to be found." And they still haven't found it, the only clue they had was hair, white with frosted red tips. But her genetics, her fingerprints weren't found in the books, they confermed she was an illigall immigrant.
I wandered from my spot on the wall in to my room, I dug though my pajamas and I found a pair of pants that had rocket ships on them, and a shirt that sort of went with it, my mom got mad when my pajamas didn't match. I slipped them on and grabbed a book, and fell to my bed and became very interested in the book. The level of the book wasn't hard, it was just some of the wording didn't make much sence, I had read shakespere before this, I had to get the dumbed down version though, but it was still harder than this.
I put the book down and marked my place, it was time for a break. My eyes were begging for a break, so I let them have what they pleased. They thanked me, after I let them rest for a minute I got up and left bed to get some water off my night stand. It was still about half the room away, and I tripped, on a book.
