After finishing the original version of this, I've decided to revise it, and a lot of things have changed. I try not to skip as much time as I had before, and I've spent much more time characterizing everyone. I've also changed some events and switched them around. A lot of thanks to my friend who I'll call Tyberious for some of the ideas. Tyberious and I are currently trying to make this into a comic, but I'm publishing the novel version on here to get some more feedback from you guys, so please leave reviews!
My mother stood in my bedroom doorway. I had just woken up, and I would usually be really groggy, but upon hearing the word "birthday" I leaped out of bed and into the kitchen as fast as my seven-year-old legs would carry me. On the table, like every birthday, was a giant stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Mother went to the drawer to grab a knife to cut the pancakes. A large steak knife fell from the drawer.
"I got it!" I exclaimed, running to grab the knife by the blade.
My mother noticed. "Not that end!" she warned, but it was too late. My fingers wrapped around the knife blade.
"Ow!" I pulled my hand away. I looked at the cuts on my fingers, expecting red blood to be flowing from the wounds, but what came out of me was not red, but orange.
My mom picked me up and took me to the bathroom.
"Mom, what's wrong with me?" I asked.
"Nothing's wrong with you, honey, you'll be fine," she said soothingly, applying peroxide onto a cotton ball to dab on my fingers.
Once she finished disinfecting my cuts, I asked, "Why is my blood different?"
"Well, not everybody's blood is red."
"What does it mean?"
"Don't worry about it now," she told me, putting band-aids on each of my fingers. "Let's just enjoy the rest of your birthday."
10 Years Later
"Why can't I go out, mom?" I asked.
"Because I said so," she responded.
"Are you still worried about me?" I questioned. "I'm seventeen. I can take care of myself."
"You'd be surprised what's out there."
"I've seen the news mom. I know the things that happen, and the media exaggerates everything. You said so yourself. So, I'd say you have nothing to worry about."
"It doesn't exaggerate everything, and it also doesn't portray everything." My mother put on her coat, about to leave for work.
"I'm just sick of being holed in all the time."
This stopped her from walking out the door. She approached me, leaned over, and tried to lift my chin so I'd look at her, but I turned away.
"It's not like I never let you do anything," she said. "I let you get your license."
"Yeah, and I've never driven alone in a car. That's the whole point of getting a license."
"Look, I can't explain the whole thing to you now. It has to wait until you're older."
"Older? I'm seventeen! What could I possibly be too young to know?" I shouted.
"Older is the wrong word. What I meant was, you're just not ready," she assured me.
I let out a huff. "Bullshit."
My mother sighed and left without saying goodbye. I remained seated on the couch for a while, staring at my reflection in the off TV. It was hard to tell on a black screen, but you could see that my hair was jet black and that I was surprisingly tan for a someone who never went outside. The only noise in the house was the ticking of a clock and my breathing. I eventually stood up and wandered to the window. It was a beautiful day out. I looked down and saw the nails that kept the window closed. Mom did this to keep me inside, to "protect" me. From what, I don't know. It seemed a bit extreme to me. I doubted it was from the usual dangers.
I went up to the front door. Besides the normal locks, this door also had a combination lock, like on a locker. This was so I couldn't simply unlock the door and leave. She had a key that would simply unlock it from the outside.
I decided that today, I wasn't going to just sit around in my house doing nothing. I was getting out of here. I started guessing at the combo my mom put in. I tried her birthday, my grandmother's birthday, grandfather's, (I had met neither of them) the day she got this house, the day she got her license, but nothing worked.
Then I thought that maybe it wasn't about her. I tried my own birthday.
I reached for the door knob, but stopped. Mom made the combination my birthday. She really cared about me. Disobeying her would not only loose her trust, but it would hurt her.
In the end, I gave in to my selfishness. I opened the door, then remembered to grab my car keys and wallet. I quickly grabbed them then closed the door behind me.
Outside it was drizzling slightly. I got into my car which, would have been sitting in the driveway until I was eighteen and free to do what I want if I had followed my mom's rules. I sat in the driver's seat and thought about where to go. I had never been outside enough to know the town. I decided I didn't care where I went, I just wanted to drive.
So that's what I did.
I stayed off the expressway, not wanting to go too far and ultimately get lost. I'd drive up one road, then turn down another. I'd look at the shops and attractions, wondering if I should stop to look at them. I decided not to, because I didn't have money and I just wanted to enjoy the freedom. As I drove the rain got harder, but it didn't get too bad.
All was well until a bicyclist rode in front of me.
I didn't see her in time to stop. I hit her at thirty miles and hour. She bounced off my hood as I slammed on the brakes. I put the car in park and got out to check on her.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She didn't answer me. He held her leg, her face contorted in pain. The thing that caught my eye, though, was a cut on her arm. Instead of a red streak of blood coming from the wound, it was blue.