Chapter 1: The Depressing Realization that You Always have to Come Back to Reality
That morning, I dug my face into my pillow, beckoning sleep once again. Sadly, it never came. I would have preferred to stay in my dreams, in a place where everything went the way I wanted it to. I looked at my clock, pulling on my trendy glasses, 8:24am. I groaned, I knew Mom and Dad would be gone today, they where birthday shopping. Reluctantly I pulled myself out of bed, and stumbled my way into the bathroom. I clutched to the doorway as I slipped on the lime green tiles of my bathroom floor, "Ah!" I screeched in surprise. At least I had woken up.
Eventually, after going through many life threatening situations in the bathroom, I slowly made my way across the house to the kitchen. With my eyes closed, still too tired to even think of opening them or executing almost any task, I pulled out three things. The one task I was willing to do in the morning of a Saturday: make a steaming cup of hot chocolate. So I routinely pulled out a mug, milk and Nesley's Hot Chocolate powder. Finally, after ten minutes of slaving away over a hot microwave, my hands wrapped around the steaming mug of hot chocolate and I settled snuggly into the couch and a fuzzy blanket. I sighed, and looked at the remote, flipping through channels mindlessly. Some movie was on Disney Channel. I shrugged, why not?
I relaxed for the remainder of the day, eating potato chips and ice cream. The rest of my day consisted of watching cartoons, skipping my homework and not even thinking twice about it. Until I finally got up, and stretched my legs for the mere purpose of food. It was 6:37pm and I was attempting the task of making myself a grilled cheese sandwich, a newly acquired skill of mine. Three hours, a grilled cheese, and four sodas later, my parents still hadn't come home. Though, I wasn't completely worried. I started pacing at around 10:45pm; they still hadn't come home or even called for that matter.
About an hour later I got the worst call of my life; from an Officer Broker. He told me that there was a report of two dead bodies off of I-10, and I was in each of their phones. The people's faces were unrecognizable, a car ahead of them had stop suddenly, so they stopped too, no problem there. It was the semi-truck behind them that was the problem. It swerved and came crashing down on my parents blue minivan and my parents themselves. I had dropped the phone then, I didn't want to hear the rest of the gory details. Besides, at that moment, I didn't believe it.
It was when Officer Broker came to my house with his thinning black hair and mustache, no hat on, that I knew it was true. I rarely saw Officer Broker, nothing ever happened in a small town like this. My heart ached with sorrow, and I fell to floor right in front of him. I shook my head and cried. It felt as if that was all I could do. And I kept asking myself how it could've happened and if it was my fault. It didn't make sense to me!
A woman from the government, from some agency I didn't care or had heard about till that moment stayed with me for my last month in my home, in the place that reeked of my parents. That reminded me of them every time I walked in the door. In that last week I wrapped things up at school, said goodbye to my friends and packed. My first day back to school, I had slept in late. Yes, I had to go to school. Only so I could finish my studies, say goodbye and things like that. Anyways, when I went to advisory that morning everyone was already there. My teacher, Mrs. Lewis, was telling everyone inside, "Be careful, her parents just died," that was all I heard. Right then and there I slumped over next to the door, and cried. I wasn't ashamed, I had a right to cry, especially now. I knew anything and everything could trigger tears, and I hated that feeling, I hated that vulnerability, I hated that just a couple days ago I came to this school and laughed and complained. It seemed like everything in the world was mocking me, like I existed just so this could happen and the world could torment me. Then, pictures of the "too cool" kids that didn't care, my friends looking sympathetic and the others who didn't really know me but were sorry flashed into my mind on constant replay. I shook my head, none of it mattered anymore. I knew I would be hearing, "I'm so sorry," all day. But, they couldn't ever truly be sorry, or at least that was what I thought. They had no idea what I was going through.
I heard someone tell Mrs. Lewis, "What's that noise?" they all quieted, but I didn't. I bawled and I didn't care who heard me. They should know how completely unhappy I was. Besides, they would forget next year, by then I would be just another fifteen year old that became a tragedy. Someone would occasionally mention me, tell a story, and feel bad. But that would be it, I would be gone. The world would move on, but I wouldn't. I would remember, and the world would forget.
The rest of the week went by in a blur. I didn't speak unless I was asked a question. I zoned out almost all the time, nothing seemed to matter. And by the time I was on the flight to Texas I had told myself that I would forget about my love of werewolves and the vampire fascination I had. I would forget about my fiction and fantasy, I would through away all of my books. I would leave all that in Arizona. I had chosen Texas when the local Judge Campton asked me where I wanted to go. I would live with my semi-rich grandparents, the psychologists. I felt truly alone.
Okay, I know this is super boring and depressing. BUT IT GETS BETTER! I promise. Just stick with me, it's background info that builds into the actual story.
Happy 4th of July (eve)!