Hello everyone! A new story I've been kicking around in my head for awhile. Hope you enjoy! Love and Rockets, No Image.
I was shot for the first time when I was seventeen years old, just walking home from school. I had gotten into a fight that day, I had started to form a reputation for using my fists instead of my words…or a lot of the time a combination of both, and had been sent home early. The other girl, Hayley Oswald, was sent to the nurses office, where she sniveled her "Poor abused rich girl" routine to anyone that walked by. No one bothered to listen to the "Biker Slut" when it came to the retelling of any event. Dad had always said that people like us were always just assumed to be guilty. Sad but true.
Anyway, it was a hot January afternoon and as Teller-Morrow came into closer view, all I could think about was Bobby's fresh squeezed lemonade. After being diagnosed with Diabetes the previous year he had begun a life of clean eating. No-processed shit. I was torn between explaining to dad that I had been suspended again and drinking the entire pitcher of lemonade I knew was in the fridge. Deciding that having to suffer through another Hunt Grimm lecture wouldn't be so bad with a belly full of lemonade (And maybe a gluten free blueberry muffin), I picked up my pace.
Teller-Morrow had always been my home, a constant weight keeping me from floating away. Dad had drifted as a NOMAD for most of my childhood and when mom couldn't take it anymore, she left me at the gates. I was seven years old then and from that moment on I was a member of the Teller household. John promised dad that he and Gemma would keep a watchful eye on me while he was away, being a NOMAD God. I hated it at first, living with people I had only met a handful of times, but soon found something in them I had never experienced before. Home.
As I approached the gates of Teller-Morrow, I felt a shift in the air. The wind stopped caressing my pale cheeks and the atmosphere seemed to thin. I caught Tig's gaze from his perch on his motorcycle, I stuck my tongue out at him per usual…but he didn't do anything lude back as he normally did. His blazing blue eyes widened and then everything fell into slow motion.
I heard a screeching from the street behind me, like a rusting door on its hinges. Tig began to rise from his bike, reaching into his cut for the dull grip of his gun, and his eyes never left mine. The pain came then, burning my insides out. The screeching noise came again and then it was gone. All in the time it took for my tongue to slip back into my mouth. The concrete greeted my face and oblivion greeted me.
I often read in books, not notable literature…more like shitty teen vampire novels, that before you die you remember something that will give your life clarity. The girls in the books usually see their ugly vampire boyfriends faces or a loved one (Mentioned like two times in the book) pulling them into the other world. What did I think about? The exact part that would fix a screeching, rusty hinge on an old car door.
What do you think?