A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME---CHAPTER 1
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Freddy Krueger. I own Jase, and I own Wren. That's it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------
BANG. Two startled faces glanced at the bedroom door.
"WREN!"
"Uh-oh, gotta fly," and he climbed out of the bedroom window.
BANG. BANG. The door shook on its rusted hinges.
"WREN! DON'T MAKE ME BREAK THE GODDAMNED DOOR DOWN, GIRL!"
"Fuck," she thought. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to recall all the things she'd done in the past couple weeks and tried to prepare an excuse for whatever it was she'd done.
"I SWEAR TO GOD, WREN, IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR."
Wren reached her arm over to the door handle and unlocked the door. She recoiled at the expression of drunken rage on her father's face.
".Did you.drink.MY BEER?!" He asked in a deadly quiet tone.
"Wha.?"
He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. "You heard me, bitch," he sneered. "DID YOU DRINK MY FUCKING BEER?!"
Wren knew for a fact that it was her older brother Kyle and his friends, but she dared not tell. She knew what her brother and his friends would do to her if she did. Wren had been down that road before and didn't like it.
"I-I don't know, Daddy."
"You know the consequences of your actions, Wren."
Wren bit her lip. Yes, she knew the consequences. Her mother had eventually committed suicide when Wren was twelve because of those "consequences".
Her dad took off his leather belt and held it tightly in his hand. He lifted up the back of Wren's shirt.
She never shed a tear.
Jason knew what would happen when Wren's dad finally got into her room. He knew it happened a lot. Though neither of them ever mentioned anything, Jason could tell when she sat down more gingerly than usual, or when she had a limp that day. Sometimes it was even as plain as a black eye or a busted lip. He always felt terrible for Wren, but knew she'd rather chug acid than talk about her feelings.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice her next to him.
"Hey, Jase," she said. She was the only one he let call him that. She was his only friend, as he was hers. They'd been buddies ever since Jason moved to Springfield five years ago. He'd only recently started to notice how beautiful Wren was, like how dark her eyes were. They were so dark you couldn't differentiate between the pupil and the iris. He also started to notice her small, endearing character traits, like when she bit her lip when she was upset, or the way she slept with her hand covering her eyes. He'd caught her asleep a number of times, crawling through her bedroom window on a Friday night. Though, he thought amusedly, if she ever knew what he was thinking about, she'd probably either laugh or kick his ass, depending on her mood.
"Hey, asshole, why are you so quiet? And what are you grinning about?" she smirked. "None of your business, bitch," he retorted. They grinned at each other and started to board the bus that just pulled up. They made their way to their usual spot at the back of the bus, and didn't talk much on the way to school. Jason always did more of the talking than Wren, but his mind was on other things. Wren wasn't willing to start a conversation if Jase didn't. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, though, and wasn't unusual for them.
Jason Lee Stover, age 16, wasn't popular at Springfield High, where he and Wren attended. Though pale and thin, he wasn't ugly. He had shaggy, unwashed dark hair and gray eyes. He had big feet and hands, with long artist's fingers, which suited him, because that's what he liked to do: draw. The subjects of most of his charcoal drawings were Wren, unbeknownst to her. He was born in Haddonfield, Illinois, and moved to Springfield five years ago. His family, which consisted of he, his mother, Laurie, and his mutt, Sid, was not rich. They lived on Elm Street, around the corner from Wren.
Wren Elisha Foster, age 15 ½, wasn't popular, either. Like Jason, she had dark hair, but, as mentioned before, dark eyes. Her name, Wren, which is a type of little bird, fit her. She was small, like a wren, no more than 5'2 and 110 pounds. She lived in Springfield all her life, in the tiny house she presently occupied. Her family was she, her dad, Jesse, and her brother, Kyle. They had basically no money, and any that was brought in by her dad and her brother's jobs was spent on alcohol, and sometimes drugs for her brother.
All of a sudden, the bus jerked to a stop in front of Springfield High. Both Wren and Jase were jolted from their thoughts as they gathered their stuff together and shuffled towards the open bus door to spend another uneventful day at Springfield High.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Freddy Krueger. I own Jase, and I own Wren. That's it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------
BANG. Two startled faces glanced at the bedroom door.
"WREN!"
"Uh-oh, gotta fly," and he climbed out of the bedroom window.
BANG. BANG. The door shook on its rusted hinges.
"WREN! DON'T MAKE ME BREAK THE GODDAMNED DOOR DOWN, GIRL!"
"Fuck," she thought. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to recall all the things she'd done in the past couple weeks and tried to prepare an excuse for whatever it was she'd done.
"I SWEAR TO GOD, WREN, IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR."
Wren reached her arm over to the door handle and unlocked the door. She recoiled at the expression of drunken rage on her father's face.
".Did you.drink.MY BEER?!" He asked in a deadly quiet tone.
"Wha.?"
He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. "You heard me, bitch," he sneered. "DID YOU DRINK MY FUCKING BEER?!"
Wren knew for a fact that it was her older brother Kyle and his friends, but she dared not tell. She knew what her brother and his friends would do to her if she did. Wren had been down that road before and didn't like it.
"I-I don't know, Daddy."
"You know the consequences of your actions, Wren."
Wren bit her lip. Yes, she knew the consequences. Her mother had eventually committed suicide when Wren was twelve because of those "consequences".
Her dad took off his leather belt and held it tightly in his hand. He lifted up the back of Wren's shirt.
She never shed a tear.
Jason knew what would happen when Wren's dad finally got into her room. He knew it happened a lot. Though neither of them ever mentioned anything, Jason could tell when she sat down more gingerly than usual, or when she had a limp that day. Sometimes it was even as plain as a black eye or a busted lip. He always felt terrible for Wren, but knew she'd rather chug acid than talk about her feelings.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice her next to him.
"Hey, Jase," she said. She was the only one he let call him that. She was his only friend, as he was hers. They'd been buddies ever since Jason moved to Springfield five years ago. He'd only recently started to notice how beautiful Wren was, like how dark her eyes were. They were so dark you couldn't differentiate between the pupil and the iris. He also started to notice her small, endearing character traits, like when she bit her lip when she was upset, or the way she slept with her hand covering her eyes. He'd caught her asleep a number of times, crawling through her bedroom window on a Friday night. Though, he thought amusedly, if she ever knew what he was thinking about, she'd probably either laugh or kick his ass, depending on her mood.
"Hey, asshole, why are you so quiet? And what are you grinning about?" she smirked. "None of your business, bitch," he retorted. They grinned at each other and started to board the bus that just pulled up. They made their way to their usual spot at the back of the bus, and didn't talk much on the way to school. Jason always did more of the talking than Wren, but his mind was on other things. Wren wasn't willing to start a conversation if Jase didn't. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, though, and wasn't unusual for them.
Jason Lee Stover, age 16, wasn't popular at Springfield High, where he and Wren attended. Though pale and thin, he wasn't ugly. He had shaggy, unwashed dark hair and gray eyes. He had big feet and hands, with long artist's fingers, which suited him, because that's what he liked to do: draw. The subjects of most of his charcoal drawings were Wren, unbeknownst to her. He was born in Haddonfield, Illinois, and moved to Springfield five years ago. His family, which consisted of he, his mother, Laurie, and his mutt, Sid, was not rich. They lived on Elm Street, around the corner from Wren.
Wren Elisha Foster, age 15 ½, wasn't popular, either. Like Jason, she had dark hair, but, as mentioned before, dark eyes. Her name, Wren, which is a type of little bird, fit her. She was small, like a wren, no more than 5'2 and 110 pounds. She lived in Springfield all her life, in the tiny house she presently occupied. Her family was she, her dad, Jesse, and her brother, Kyle. They had basically no money, and any that was brought in by her dad and her brother's jobs was spent on alcohol, and sometimes drugs for her brother.
All of a sudden, the bus jerked to a stop in front of Springfield High. Both Wren and Jase were jolted from their thoughts as they gathered their stuff together and shuffled towards the open bus door to spend another uneventful day at Springfield High.