The Beginning of the Rest of "Our" Lives?
Where do I start? So much has changed since I moved with my abusive, womanizing, drunk of a father to the town of Fell's Church, Virginia a year ago. We had a pretty nice house, kind of on the edge of town by the Old Wood, about a mile from the Boarding House ran by the old lady, sometimes speculated as a witch, Mrs. Flowers. My room was upstairs at the front of the house, and I painted it all black, with glow in the dark stars covering every inch of wall and ceiling, with glow in the dark paint, varying from purple, green, pink, orange, and blue, splatter paint everywhere, even on the black-wood floors and the mirror-closet doors and blacked out window. Instead of regular bulbs as light, I had only black lights, so my room was a dark, neon dream. It was my masterpiece, and it was my one sanctuary.
I "home-schooled" myself since I completed eighth grade, which really just consisted of me sitting on my desktop researching subjects which interest me: fantasy, history, sex, interesting facts, folk-lore, music, myths, legends, conspiracies, algebra, animals; and then an essay in my blog at the end of the week consisting of everything I'd learned during the week. A lot of "work" for that sixteen year old girl I was then.
My father was almost never home, either at work or the bar, so music was always booming from the many speakers in my room, helping me concentrate and providing exercise from the many dance-raves I throw for myself on a daily basis.
Every day was the same-old routine. I brushed and straightened my already straight black hair that shone purple or blue, depending on the light, style it, apply heavy eyeliner and, depending on my mood, spice it up a bit with mascara, eye shadow, and/or designs out of eyeliner, around my ice-blue eyes. Then go to my room and dress in my mostly all dark wardrobe, excluding my rave clothes, eat, then head up to my room and read, research whatever's on my mind, play some video games, dance, eat, then some other teenage stuff.
I'd been there three months when people started disappearing and dying. The news said it was an animal attack, some mountain lion or wolf attacking the citizens of Fell's Church. It was a Thursday night, at two fifteen in the morning when my father stumbled through the door, drunk off his ass. When he spotted me, a murderous rage filled him, and that's when he started running for me with surprising speed. I sprinted for my room, slamming the door as my father reached it. I pressed all my weight against the door, but I only weighed 96 pounds, and he was more than double that. He slammed himself against the door twice before he finally broke through, the force throwing me across the room. He jumped on top of me, pinning my arms and legs down as he beat me. I blacked out twice.
When I came too, I stopped fighting and he let up, thinking I'd given up or passed out completely. He let up on the restraints holding my arms and legs down and I gathered all of my strength, ignored the pain, and kicked him off as hard as I could, sprinting out my bedroom door, tumbling down the stairs, getting up and running into the words, my father right on my heels.
"Come back here you fucking bitch!" He screamed, grabbing my hair and wrenching me back, making me cry out in pain. He liked when I cried out.
He cut me with his knife, and then, all of a sudden, he wasn't holding me anymore. If only I knew then what that would mean later on.
I turned around to see where he was, and he'd ben picked up and thrown across the clearing we were in. A man in all black stood over him, picked his bleeding, broken body up, and bit his throat. My father screamed.
The man in black liked that.
Then, he went quiet. Eerily quiet. After a few minutes the man stood up straight, dropped my father's lifeless body to the dead, cold ground, and turned around, looking at me.
Blood was everywhere; all over his mouth, his neck, dripping down the front of his body, all over his clothes, on the ground, forming a thick, viscous pool of crimson red liquid at his feet. The man began walking toward me, and I collapsed.
When I came too, I was in a large, ornate bed with a canopy and thin veils surrounding the bed, encompassing me in a black on black tomb of comfort and luxury. I gathered my courage then threw the veils back, jumping off the bed and running out of the room, down a hall, a flight of stairs, through two rooms, the main hallway, and out the door.
Please don't leave me, little Blackbird.
I ran through the woods in the general direction I thought my home was located, not seeing anybody, not hearing anyone following me. Was that a voice I heard as I'd left the house? I couldn't think about it, and wouldn't remember it until I heard that oddly familiar voice in my head again, in a dream.
I stumbled across a road, gathered my bearings, and ran until I came across the path that led to my house, and sprinting for safety. I bounded up the front steps, leapt through the threshold, and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me and falling to the floor, caught in a seize of body-shaking sobs. Stumbling up the stairs to my sanctuary, still sobbing, and locking my door, crawling on my bed and under the covers, grasping my home-made "voodoo" doll, Beda, I managed to fall into a deep sleep.