Stan stared into the mirror in front of him. He stared into the boy
who lives inside it. 'No,' he thought, 'Not a boy. You're a MONSTER.' He
looked around his room for something—anything. Nothing. He punched his own
fist into the face of the monster in front of him. The glass shattered into
the floor. "Shattered," he said, with a quivering voice, "Just like Wendy."
He jerked his now-black hat off and threw it into the floor. All he wore now was black. Black and red. He had changed so much. Most everybody was scared of him. Every sense he was accused of Wendy's death. And after all these years, he had partly come to believe he was to blame, too. But to tell the truth, he didn't really remember what had happened. It was so long ago, 5 years to be exact. When he was only 8. And now he was some kind of 13-year-old killing machine. At least that's what everybody thought.
He walked into the kitchen to find something to eat. Or at least to drink. Every sense his father left him and his sister, they were poor. His mother had 2 jobs, yet they could barely afford food.
"HEY! ASS-HOLE! WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?!"
Stan turned around to see his 17-year-old sister. He looked at the floor and shrugged, knowing what was going to happen next. It was always what happened next. Always the same thing, over and over.
She swung her fist at him, hitting his jaw. He stumbled back into the refrigerator. She swung at him again, hitting him in the same exact place. He fell to the ground and watched her walk off, while blood dripped down his chin, and down his shirt. He stood up and held the side of his face.
The refrigerator was empty, except for some type of mushy, brown food in a plastic container and 5-month-old soda. He choked both of them down, trying not to vomit. He could still taste blood.
Even after he had eaten, he still felt the urge to consume some something. But he knew there was nothing left to eat. He would have gone to Kyle's house for food, but Kyle's parents were tired of feeding him. Kyle was probably even tired of it, too.
His sister was always off somewhere with her friends. SHE got food. SHE had friends. "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!" he screamed out, slamming his fist into the wall. His knuckles slowly started to bleed. He panted hard... like a dog. Like a MONSTER. He pulled his fist back and examined the bloody nails that were in the hole.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BASTARD! I'M ON THE PHONE!!" his sister screamed at the top of her lungs.
Stan growled at her and stormed up to his room with a twisted, distorted smile forming on his face. His eyelids lowered as he thought about it—the death of his sister.
He jerked his now-black hat off and threw it into the floor. All he wore now was black. Black and red. He had changed so much. Most everybody was scared of him. Every sense he was accused of Wendy's death. And after all these years, he had partly come to believe he was to blame, too. But to tell the truth, he didn't really remember what had happened. It was so long ago, 5 years to be exact. When he was only 8. And now he was some kind of 13-year-old killing machine. At least that's what everybody thought.
He walked into the kitchen to find something to eat. Or at least to drink. Every sense his father left him and his sister, they were poor. His mother had 2 jobs, yet they could barely afford food.
"HEY! ASS-HOLE! WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?!"
Stan turned around to see his 17-year-old sister. He looked at the floor and shrugged, knowing what was going to happen next. It was always what happened next. Always the same thing, over and over.
She swung her fist at him, hitting his jaw. He stumbled back into the refrigerator. She swung at him again, hitting him in the same exact place. He fell to the ground and watched her walk off, while blood dripped down his chin, and down his shirt. He stood up and held the side of his face.
The refrigerator was empty, except for some type of mushy, brown food in a plastic container and 5-month-old soda. He choked both of them down, trying not to vomit. He could still taste blood.
Even after he had eaten, he still felt the urge to consume some something. But he knew there was nothing left to eat. He would have gone to Kyle's house for food, but Kyle's parents were tired of feeding him. Kyle was probably even tired of it, too.
His sister was always off somewhere with her friends. SHE got food. SHE had friends. "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!" he screamed out, slamming his fist into the wall. His knuckles slowly started to bleed. He panted hard... like a dog. Like a MONSTER. He pulled his fist back and examined the bloody nails that were in the hole.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BASTARD! I'M ON THE PHONE!!" his sister screamed at the top of her lungs.
Stan growled at her and stormed up to his room with a twisted, distorted smile forming on his face. His eyelids lowered as he thought about it—the death of his sister.