FictionPress.com - let the words flow
| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
|
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
I load the bullets.
Dewdrops slipped down the shimmering gossamer threads that a creature had woven only hours before. They swirled and twirled in some exotic dance until the droplets took a suicidal leap to the ground. Broken on the sharp blades of grass, they slid to the dirt, forming a small puddle once more. The face of the small bead was a rippling mirror of everything else. I suppose it all comes down to dewdrops. Well, really it all comes down to what makes up the dewdrops. But what is the difference, anyway?
I sat up on the grass, turning my attention to the endless azure sky streaked with pearly clouds. Birds zipped through the treetops, not paying any heed to my dewdrop theory or myself. That was not a big surprise. Not many people pay any mind to me in the first place. It was not like I cared either.
I have no social skills. I can not keep a serious conversation with anyone and I do not like to talk period. I have a moderate case of schizophrenia and I have behavior problems that could sometimes result in violence. I am not sure what caused my medical difficulties, or what side of the family I inherited them from, for I am considered the “freak” of the family.
Perhaps I was switched I birth. I had read about that happening on the internet. A nurse had accidentally mixed up the tags on cradles in the hospital and the parents did not notice a difference. They had no clue that the baby they took home was not the same one that the mother had given birth to.
That would have made much more sense because I sport greasy black hair and brown eyes, coming from a family of blue-eyed “blondies”. I can not help but notice the looks of disgust my parents and older brother enjoy giving me. I do not doubt that they all wish I was never born. My brother once told me he wished I was dead. Recently, I have been wishing the same thing.
I cock the gun.
When I first started going to school, I thought it would be the coolest thing in the world. I planned on making hundreds of friends and having everyone bow down and honor me like a queen. Well, it did not quite turn out that way. I came home with three missing teeth and a black eye, crying about how a gang of first-grade bullies called me a mutant and beat me up. My teacher did not even give me any sympathy.
Then there was another time when I cut myself on some scissors in art class when I first entered middle school. Panicking, I frantically licked up the blood before it stained my clothes. That was when I got the nickname of “vampire”. Nice, no?
That is basically my life in a nutshell. Now, in tenth grade with no friends and an IQ of 196 (I think that is average), my hobby is sitting out on the grass behind the high school to skip class and watch droplets of water slip down a spider web. I have been caught twice already, have made my way to ISS (In-School Suspension), and lost a staring contest with a fish in the office aquarium.
Right on schedule, the assistant dean lumbered out onto the football field. I watched him from the sidelines, slowly making my way underneath the bleachers. The dean looked around for me, spotting my red jacket as it snagged on the metal.
“Miss Victoria Hazelton!” he bellowed. I sighed and crawled out onto the field.
He shook his head in disbelief. “You get mad when people call you names but you encourage them by acting weird. I just don’t understand you Miss Vicky.”
I hated being called Vicky. I bit my tongue just so I wouldn’t scream and kick at him.
“You can come on back inside,” he said.
I raise it to my head.
I think I am having a major breakthrough! In gym class, I only threw one of the baseballs at the coach’s head and I made my first friend out running track. She was a new girl. She never talked to anyone but she liked to run with me. Perhaps she has the same kind of problem as I. Her hair is long and blonde, braided down her back. She has pretty blue eyes and a nice smile. I think she is Swedish because I do not think she knows Engligh. I’m still not sure what her name is.
When I got home that day, my mom screamed at me because I forgot to take my medicine that morning. She said I could have killed someone or myself. Then I called her something I will not repeat and told her that it wouldn’t matter if I killed myself anyone. She is a good actress because she pretended like she cared. She started sobbing and she told me to go away for a while. I took it literally and three hours later I found myself at the bus station ready for a ride to Georgia. The sheriff came and picked me up when I could not show any ID to the ticket man. He took me back home.
“WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE JASON?” my mom shrieked later that night. “HE NEVER RUNS OFF! HE NEVER THROWS THINGS AT PEOPLE OR HALLUCINATES OR-”
“YOU WANT ME TO STOP?” I bellowed back. “I CAN’T JUST MAGICALLY FORGET I’M SCHIZOPHRENIC AND PRETEND EVERYTHING IS BETTER! I’M SORRY! I CAN’T FREAKING HELP IT!”
“DON’T TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME! DON’T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME!”
“DO YOU REALLY THINK I’M TALKING? GOD! It isn’t my fault that there is something wrong with me. If it is anyone’s fault, it is yours. You are the one that had me in the first place! Before I came home, I was planning to tell you that I made a friend today. I was planning to tell you that I had a complete conversation that didn’t have anything to do with me being weird or trying to pick fights on the school bus. OKAY?”
She slapped me. I jumped at her and tore at her with my nails. “DON’T HIT ME! I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE HIT ME!”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
“MAKE ME!”
“GO NOW!”
“NO!”
“WARREN!”
Warren Harris Hazelton (a.k.a. my dad) walked in. He looked at the two of us before turning to the chair next to the computer and picking it up. This was a rusty metal one that weighed a ton. He turned back to me and brought it down over my head. I was so shocked that it did not hurt much. I started feeling it after he brought it down at least three times on my spine. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Jason in the corner watching as a silent onlooker. He closed his eyes. Or perhaps that was me.
I pray to God.
When I woke up, I think it was the following morning. I was lying on the couch and there were flies buzzing around me. They were feasting on the sticky blood that had crusted over my face. It hurt to even blink and my stomach probably shrank from lack of food. I found myself wondering if someone had been making me take my medicine while I was out.
I flexed my fingers. My arm seemed to work. I brought it up to feel my face. I withdrew my hand to see if I was still bleeding. I was wondering how much I looked like a monster. This had happened to me only once before. But it had been my uncle that had done it. My parents had dropped my brother and I off at Uncle Tim’s apartment and he had beaten me with a chair. I woke up feeling woozy and I asked Jason what happened. He said that Tim did things to me. I was five then.
I called out to anyone that could hear me. Jason was nearby. He was sitting in that metal chair, watching me and smoking a cigarette.
“Am I dead?” I asked him, wrinkling my nose at the smell and finding it painful.
“No,” he said. He glared at me before flicking the butt into my face. I roared in agony.
“Jason...” I said, blinking back tears. “Why do you hate me?”
“People at school like to talk...”
“Is that a reason?” I demanded, trying to sit up. “Look what he did to me!”
“Mom wanted for me to make sure you got your medicine.” He handed me a white pill.
I eyed it suspiciously. “This isn’t the normal stuff.”
“Mom got a different prescription yesterday. Take it.”
I swallowed it.
“Okay,” he said. “Off to school. See you. Don’t kill anyone while I’m gone...”
“Whatever.”
It was near midday when the doorbell rang. I answered it by screaming, “It’s open!”
It was the Swedish girl.
“Oh! Hi!” I said cheerfully. “How did you know where I lived?”
She just smiled. She sat next to me on the couch. She did not seem at all alarmed about my injuries. She held my hand, though I could not feel her beneath my fingers. That was probably because part of me was so numb from my dad’s attack.
She then pointed to my dad’s desk over in the corner.
“What? That’s my dad’s...”
She shook her head and pointed more insistently. I sighed and painfully crawled off of the couch. I made my way to the desk and pulled open a drawer. The girl was right behind me. She touched my hand and then touched an object in the drawer. I pulled whatever it was out to examine it. It was something heavy wrapped in a black velvet cloth. I peeled the fabric away from it with excitement. What could it be?
It was shiny silver. It had a black trigger that winked at me like toy begging to be played with. I looked at the girl with raised eyebrows.
Go ahead. Do it! Pull the trigger, the girl seemed to say. It will be easy. It won’t even hurt. Just put it up to your head!
No! My parents...
Nobody cares about you Tori! Nobody loves you. Who would love you? Come on...I thought I was your friend.
You are my friend but...
Just think...No one will hurt you anymore. You’ll finally be free.
I pull the trigger.