I really hate how the first sentence of my story repeats

I really hate how the first sentence of my story repeats. I have no idea why that happens, and I assure you, that is not my doing. By popular demand, this chapter is in… flashback form! (sorry, openheadspace…) the rest of you, ENJOY!! (oh, and by the way, thanks to all of you who favourite, recently, and an especial thanks to those who reviewed)

Kalid was in a mood. He had been forgotten at school that day. He stood around for 20 minutes, having just run out of charge in his mobile. He had gotten more and more frustrated as cars rounded the corner again and again, none of them his mother's. Every other waiting kid had been picked up, leaving just him, standing on the sidewalk, all the while frustrated because he couldn't dial home.

He finally got fed up, and walked. He wished he had taken up the offer of a lift with Mark. It took him an hour to walk back with his schoolbag. it thumped on his back with his walking and made a rhythm. Step-thump step-thump…

He unlocked the door with his spare key and stepped inside. He frowned, something didn't feel right. He dumped his bag in the corner of the hall next to the door. His mother took Fridays off, and his dad should have gotten home a half-hour before school ended, unless he was out somewhere. Kalid peered into the mirror in the hallway, rumpling his brown hair out of its school-standard combed back style. Satisfied that it was appropriately messed-up, he peered into the lounge room

But the lounge room was empty. Same with the kitchen. He called out; "Mum? What's for dinner?" but he didn't get a reply. He shuddered. Something wasn't right. Hesitantly, Kalid walked upstairs. He checked his parents' bedroom quickly and began down the hall to his room. Two steps down, though, he stopped and turned back. He thought he saw… he made a face. No. couldn't be. He walked backwards and slowly opened the door again. He walked inside.

"What the…?" he stared at the figure on the bed. "Mum?" he whispered. It was his mother, lying, face down, skin as white as a sheet, on the bed. "Mum." He said louder, shaking her shoulder, and when he didn't get a reaction from that, rolling her over. She flopped limply over, her eyes open but glassy. He knew for certain that she wouldn't be simply getting up and starting on dinner, even thought Kalid had planned to help her that night.

But his brain didn't want to register that. "Mum! Get up!" he yelled, his voice breaking on the last word so it came out as a high pitched squeal. He noticed another figure slumped in the corner. "Dad! Dad, what the hell?!" he screamed, his face heating up.

He swore. He swore as loudly as he could, as many times as his lungs would let him. Then, very suddenly, he stopped, and flopped to his knees, breathing very deeply, on the verge of tears, simply because he knew that his parents would have never let him swear like that.

But even though Kalid had stopped screaming curses, screams continued. An incomprehensible high pitched wail reverberated around the room. Kalid stood up. He wiped his face on his sleeve and turned to face the source of the disturbing noise.

A tiny quivering shape sat hugging her knees against the wall at the side of the room. He realised it was a small child, a little girl in a black dress. She stopped wailing, took a few, gasping breaths, and started to sob. She had hair whiter than her pale skin, pulled back in a tight pony-tail, only a few wisps hanging around her knees, where her face was buried.

Kalid walked over, putting on an older-brotherly type voice, because even though he was gutted, he couldn't imagine ever seeing somebody dead at that young an age. He didn't think very properly through why a little girl would be in his parent's bedroom right then, but then, he wasn't really thinking anything through properly at that time.

"Hey…" he said comfortingly. "It's alright…"he said, leaning over the little girl, his hands folded. She sobbed a little louder, and huddled into a tighter ball.

"Be a brave girl for me, please?" The girl shook her head, her face still hidden by her spindly legs. Kalid was in the worst mood for taking care of somebody. He sighed, his breath catching more than once, and he shivered. He was trying not to look at the limp bodies in the room with him.

"Take my hand…" the sobs immediately stopped, and the girl twitched a little, as if she was about to raise her head. "Take my hand and we'll go get you a nice hot chocolate?" he said. Slightly confused, he extended a hand. The girl grasped his hand suddenly, and slowly began to raise her head. Although her cheeks were tear-streaked, her mouth was shaped into a sly grin. Her eyes, framed by frowning white eyebrows, were pitch black, without whites.

Kalid gasped, and let go, but it was too late. The girl clasped his hand tighter, and then vanished, kind of splitting into smoke that coiled towards him and vanished too.

A moment passed, Kalid frozen from the shock of the scene that just took place.

Then it hit him. The grief and anger of a thousand memories-all of them his-ranging back from when he was too young to have these memories still consciously available to him. Every time he had ever felt sad, stressed or angry played in his head, all at once, multiplied exponentially. He keeled over, clutching his hands to his head in a desperate attempt to keep his skull from exploding.

After a few seconds of this, although it felt like several hours to Kalid, He wanted to end it all. At the very edge of his mind, a little voice began to whisper. It was a calm, threatening whisper. A tiny girl's voice, that grew, ever so gradually, louder, until Kalid could finally make out snippets of what she was saying, beyond the painful throb of memories, so twisted out of shape and proportion that they were hardly his anymore.

"I shouldn't have been the one to die… I deserved my life… I was such a good girl…She isn't a good girl… I should be the one to live…kill you first… kill her later…"

The voice was so calm; sounding all but similar to the insane child Tanya had the bad luck to cross paths with. However this child was insane, as all miseries are, the only difference between the type of insanity of the boy and the type of the girl in the black dress was that the girl had a plan. She wasn't killing Kalid slowly and gut-wrenchingly painfully just for the sake of doing so. She planned to move on from Kalid to find somebody else, somebody she very desperately wanted to make suffer above everybody else.

The child was insane, but it was a cool, calculated kind of insane.

Sometimes that is the worst type of insanity.

Kalid was writhing on the floor of his parents' bedroom. To say that he was in pain would be like saying that liquid helium is a little cold.

The girl gradually stopped concerning herself with her own thoughts, and was beginning to start to speak directly to Kalid, in a voice that sounded like deliberate patience.

"Why aren't you dying yet?" she spoke slowly, as if she were the eldest and Kalid were the child. "Your parents died quickly. Why do you take so long?"

In spite of himself, Kalid said with a wince "Trust me, it's not through lack of trying."

Several minutes later any guise of patience the girl may have given had worn away, and she was screaming at Kalid. Kalid, who was over being yelled at and being pummelled with terrible memories and emotions, told the little girl to go get stuffed and roast herself in a honey glaze. The little girl didn't take too well to this.

By this time, Kalid couldn't think of anything as being happy anymore, and, as exaggerated as every bad memory he had ever had was, he couldn't tell anymore which was worse, the fact that they were out of cereal, or that his parents were lying dead upstairs. He tramped into the bathroom to wash his face, and he noticed that his hair was no longer brown. Instead, paper white hair stuck up all over his head. He sniffed and told himself that it was fitting. "Bleached on the inside and the outside" he thought.

Although what he did next is the reason he moved so far away, away from the local newspaper's watchful eye, and from anyone who knew him too well, it is not part of his story that must be dwelt upon. Kalid himself didn't touch this part of the story in his rendition of it to Tanya, who was still sitting on his bed half an hour after the sun had gone down, listening very closely to his story. He simply left it to her imagination as to what he did.

Even though he had told her all the rest of the story of that day, there was still something that he was keeping from her. Although he probably should have told her what it was, and Tanya probably deserved to know, he left it out for fear that it might warrant a less-than-pleasant reaction from the little girl, who, even to that very afternoon, took up residence in his mind and sapped the happiness out of his thoughts and the thoughts of those who stood to close to him.

For on the very first day that he had spotted Tanya walking in he hall, something had clicked in the mind of the little girl. Something that could mean nothing but bad news for Tanya.

Recognition