My Life Of Horrors
By: Brooke
What is the first thing that comes to mind when someone says, 'azlynn?' A town? City? Company, maybe? No. It's my name and I'm a human being. I have learned not to keep my hopes up, expect much, or laugh, at life. Most of the time I am told I act mature for my young age of twelve. I remember when a man asked me if I was a dwarf and if I was twenty-nine years old. Soon after, I found out that the man was an alcoholic and was drunk at the time. Still, the strange question did not surprize me; the man could have been drunk or not. I am loved and well. Well not loved, and I have a very noticable limp, but overall, I guess I'm well. My older sister, Jezme, being an alcoholic, was abusive and downright mean and hateful. But I cope through life.. My life of Horrors.
"Jez, whatever are you doing?" I ask. My nineteen-year-old sister was pulling things at random and throwing them into a mixing bowl. "You're not attempting to make dinner again, are you?"
"Do you have a problem with that? I just decided to give your poor leg and head a rest." she replied, mockingly, kicking my leg hard.
How dare she pull my limp into this! But I keep my anger down, "No, I don't have anything to complain about. Just that last timeyou almost burnt the house down."
"Ah, you boys worry to much! Not a lick of fice touch Dear's curtains!"
Dear is- was our wonderful mother. I remember the reapeted gun shots the night they were killed in their beds. Hun was our father. Jezme and I still do care for what Dear and Hun left behind, like Hun's brown leather wallet and Dear's kitchen curtains. I always have a piece of them with me: Hun's huge watch that always falls off my wrist and Dear's favorite keychain that always hangs from my belr loop. Dear's keychain is in the shape of a square and has mine and Jezme's full names. I still cry myself to sleep at night at this event that happened three years ago.
"That doesn't matter," I reply. "What matters is that we could be homeless if you cook again. Now, throw that slop away and I'll make something in a few minutes."
My eyes fly back down to the novel in my hands. It was called 'Creesh Jonahsen: A Adventure Novel. Creesh has to find his kidnapped older brother while taking care of his mentally challanged three-year-old sister, Toshie. Sometimes I imagine myself as Creesh, just to get away from the real world.
"Azlyyyyyn!" Jezme whines childishly. "Let me try this time! You can make dinner tonight!" This is the voice that she uses to get me to do something.
"Ah, stop whinig! Your nineteen! Act like it. I'm seven yeats younger than you and I don't whine as much as you!" I yell. That was the first time I actually yelled at my sister. The last time, too, unless I want to become helpless.
"Azlynn Gedmen KedShree! Unless you to be beat, I would calm your tone of voice!"
"Sorry," I mumble. throwing my book on the kitchen table and standing. I limp over to the refridgeirator, pull out the igreedients for meatloaf and rummage around in the cabinents of pots and pans. Before I start to cook, I look into the mixing bowl Jez was putting things into and crinkle my nose. The mixture was a orange and a sickish pink color, with egg shells, bread crusts and left-over corn.
"Uh, Jezme? What was this supposed to be?" I ask, axsiously.
"Um... Well.. I honestly don't know." she stuttered pulling her black-streaked hair into a ponytail.
"Then could you do me a huge favor and throw it out? You know, before I cook?"
"Can't. Promised I'd meet Terri and Gozlin at the bar tonight."
"Then why am I cooking? You won't be here in time for supper!" I slam a pot on the counter angerily. She never is!
But she was already heading out the door. "See ya, Azlynn! Be good!"
"Whatever!"
I put everything back and grab my book as I limp into the livingroom and sit down on the couch. I open Creesh and read-
'"Toshie, stay here, OK? I'm going to go find Jezzie." Creesh quickly says before running out into the streets of Manhattan. "Jezzie!" he yells. "Jezzie!" Where could have my brother gone? he thought, as he yelled. Why would he leave?'
It wasn't long before the phone rang.
"Hello?" I say, the cordless white phone to my ear.
"Yes, this is Deputy Cadwell speaking. Is your sister Jezme Megen KedShree?"
"Yes, sir.'
"I'm sorry to tell you she has been shot."
"Is she dead?!" I'm yelling now.
"I'm deeply sorry. But before you go, can I ask you a few questions?"
A tear slides down my cheek. "Yes," I croak.
"How old was your sister?"
"Nineteen."
"When is her birthday?"
"October 31."
"Son, I need the year also."
"Sir I don't know what year she was born. You do the math."
"Don't smart mouth me boy. Who were your parents?"
"Kezme and Crezzie KedShree."
"What is your name?"
"Azlynn. Azlynn KedShree."
"Well, Azlynn, how do you spell that?"
A-Z-L-Y-N-N. Azlynn."
"Um, alright. NIce speaking to you. Social Services willl be there to pick you up tomorrow."
"What? No! I have to stay here!"
"You can't stay there my yourself, son. It's against the law."
"What if I find someone to live with me?"
Well, they have to be over eighteen like your sister."
"It will be done. How long do I have?"
"A month. No longer. And I'm being generous. Would you like to help make plans for Jezme's funeral?"
"Yes, I would. Thank you."
I slam the phone down and collapse on the couch, crying into my hands. I'm alone. Nobody to turn to. Now I'm going to lose my house, too. What am I going to do? I think. I don't want to go into foster care!
"What do I do?" I ask my lap. But my lap stays silent, as usual and only moves when I move my left foot, the one with the limp. I throught my favorite quotes, as it never ceases to make me feel better:
THIS IS BROOKE SPEAKING. TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE QUOTES WHEN YOU COMMENT AND I WILL USE THEM.
Soon, I fall asleep, my head still in my hands. My dreams are filled with sounds of gunshots and screams, people falling over. Dead.
Rang-ding. Ranggg diiing.
What was that sound?
Raaaannnngggg ddddiiiinnnngggg.
That sound was not coming from my dream.
I slowly open my eyes, and sit up, reaching my arms toward the sky. It was the doorbell. I glance at the clock. Twelve o'clock. Who would be coming this late?
I run my hand though my blonde, black-streaked hair and call out, "Who is it?"
No answer. Just a short a knock and rushed footsteps downt he concreate porch steps.
I stand and open the door. I poke my head out and look left, and then right. Nobody was there. A little whimper under me was enough to make me look down and see a tightly-wrapped baby in a black cloak-looking cover. I look around again, calling out, "Hello?"
But nobody came. So I pick up the bundle and the baby looks straight into my eyes with his strange blue-green ones. Across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose was a single swirl, similar to the twelve surrounding my ankle. I bring him inside and when I sit down I unwrap him. Well, the firsr thing I find out is that HE is a SHE. Little tufts of blonde hair were on her head... with hints of blonde. Similarity there with Jezme and I. |
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