www.whyville.net Dec 22, 2013 Weekly Issue

Guest Writer

A Story of Despair and Death: Part 1

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I never considered myself complex; I got average grades, drove an average car, and followed the average routine of going to school, and staying home on the weekends. Really, nothing about me was interesting unless you wanted to go deep down, where you'd find the darkest secrets that I, like many people, want to hide. Of course, no one would have time to break me just to figure out that I accidentally dropped a baby when I was young, or that I had once broke a dog's leg when I first started driving. Of course, I do have darker secrets but those? We don't want to find those out.

Now, onto our little story. It started on a bright, mostly happy spring day. The flowers had started blooming, their multicolor petals covering the yards with splotches of colors, the air had grown fresher, and there were a few bugs out. It was just starting to get warm, and by the midday it'd probably be in the 70s, a welcome change as the winters have been harsh, with fluffy, but evil, snowflakes and cold temperatures that could make even the most fur-covered dog shiver.

School had just ended, kids were all around the school, swarming like bugs to their little groups. I had my own group of friends, but I never visited them after school, they always tried to pry into my secrets a bit too much. The crisp, cool air had a small breeze rolling through it. It seemed like the perfect day, in many ways. It wasn't, however. Thunderstorms were forecasted later on, and those never signaled a good night's sleep.

My house loomed in the distance. It was a nice sight after six hours of learning about various things I didn't care about. Finally, I would be able to go home and lie upon the bed I've grown to love, even if my feet almost hung off. The brick walls were now in view, and I broke off into a run.

I opened the door of my house with a creak. That's how things in horror movies get scary, right? Of course, this isn't a horror story.

"Mother!?" I called out, then heard a faint reply from her room. I sighed, closing the door behind me, and went to the living room, falling onto the couch. Of course, as soon as I turned on the television, I knocked over a bottle of water. With a loud sigh of annoyance, I went to get a towel from a closet.

I went to get a towel but found any. I grumbled a small and went to my mother's room, opening the door.

And that's where my troubles began.


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