Tales for Teens E-Book

Jenny Bourff

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

This book contains different stories throughout. Macy, abused by her parents, ran away from her home, in attempts to avoid the secret that is painfully obvious to one man in particular.

Leseprobe

Jenny Bourff

Tales for Teens

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Chapter One

Collection of Short Stories Story One: The Death of Michael Douglas It’s been three years. Three years since I held the stiff, cold body. The soul gone, the body laying still. Why? He was so young. His life swept away in the whoosh of a bullet, a single bullet. Cold air leaked through the faulty floorboards. Outside, the abandoned town lay quiet beneath the blanket of white snow of which had accumulated in last night’s storm. I looked down at my fingers. Frostbite, an agent of the cold. I realized then that I would lose the index and the pinky. Chills crept down my spine as the rain trickled down the cracked windows. Wind howled through the barren building. 3 years. My mother and father still to this day have not bothered to look for me. Since the day of my birth, people have told me of how I was unwanted, unloved, worthless. A mistake. Things would’ve been much better if I was never born. Soon after my fifth birthday, my mother went out on a binge. I was left in the back of the family vehicle. Waiting, Wondering, Where was my mom? Two days went by, still no mom. Five days and still no mom. Seven days and yet my mom was still not around. Finally, a young man, of which lived nearby, had heard my faint crying. It was surprising that he had heard me, for the length of time of which I was abandoned my voice became raspy and hoarse. I awoke to find my father kneeling beside my hospital bed. My mother still was no where to be found. Seeing my father there would have been comforting if I had not known his tears were simply lies. Drops of false hope. Every single drop dripping from his hooked nose was fake. Nothing but an imposter. After being released, life became worse with time. The night my mother stumbled back into our house will be burned into my mind’s eye for years to come. She had not looked like the mother I had previously known. Her body now fragile, her eyes now blackened. She appeared before me as a weak, pointless being. My stomach swirled as she managed to stutter a sentence. I couldn’t possibly understand her so I quickly walked away. I heard my mother scream as my dad began to hit her. The blood splattered against the walls and the carpet. When seeing it the next morning, I realized the color added value to the room. No more blank white rooms. I loved how the scarlet color was deep and rich. I wanted to see more. Two years later, a miracle occurred. Nine hours of hard labor and out popped Michael Douglas Trenton, my beautiful baby brother who proved to be quite the thinker. He began to talk at the age of 8 months. He knew exactly when “mommy” and “daddy” were quarreling. Three years ago, Michael was murdered. I ran as far away as possible from my troubling home. Or what most considered a home but I considered a hell. Growing up, I faced a vast amount of complications and difficulties. Now, here is one more I have yet to accomplish. I am Michael’s murderer. I held the cocked gun to his head. I caused the snow outside to turn red. I am a monster. I killed him. I told you of how I yearned to see blood again. Not only did I see it but I tasted it and smelled it as well. It is my unfortunate addiction. My drug that keeps me sane. A thirst I just can’t quench. Being a monster is not what I chose for myself. It chose me. I can’t say what impelled me to kill him. All I know is I longed for the blood of his body. The blood tasted so sweet yet sinful. I ache to feel the kick of the gun yet again. If not a gun, then maybe a different instrument. I plan to have my step father mysteriously disappear. My excuse for a mother will be leaving town soon. Revenge of what they put me through when younger will soon be made.

Chapter Two

1 WEEK LATER Revenge growing closer, I made my way towards the old white house of which I grew up in. The one in which Michael was murdered. The familiar sound of my father’s voice echoed through the chilling breeze. I heard his footsteps growing distant and the sound of water became distinct. He was showering. This was the time to put my plan into action. I figured he had still kept the front window unlocked. This was how I had snuck out after the incident. I brought along with me what I thought would have been the perfect weapons: a cracked and broken glass bottle and Michael’s old marbles. The floor creaked above me as my father was dressing himself. Time was rapidly depleting. Since my father had always lounged on the couch before his sleep, I knew the exact path he would take. I left the marbles five foot before the end of the stairwell. This meant the combination of his wet feet and the marbles almost guaranteed he’s fall face forward. I hid behind the kitchen wall. I could see the old blood spatters which hadn’t been painted over. My heart began to race and I felt the same feeling I had three years ago: lust. I wanted to feel the blood drip from my fingertips. His coughing grew closer and I readied the bottle. Third step. Second step. Last step. One, Two, Three. My arm jerked forward as his heavy body fell forward. His screams filled the empty house and I went into a rage. Whispering quietly to him my words were: “You know, life is like a sketchbook. You draw and draw more trying to make things seem perfect. When you’ve done all you can do and it won’t ever be perfect, you erase it all and become new again. It was time to erase you, daddy.” I placed my foot on the back of his head. The glass tore deeper into the flesh of his face. He wailed out in agony. He spoke three words before his head caved in on the glass. “I’m sorry Macy.” “Sorry means nothing anymore.” The blood spilled onto the floor. He was lifeless. I left his eyes open. There was nothing more that I wanted but to make sure he regrets what he did to me. “Burn in Hell.” I picked up my jacket and began to walk away. The sound of cop cars roared in the distance. I had to get away. My legs pumped me through the city streets. I had to hide. People would stop to stare and gawk at my bloodied jacket. I made no eye contact and raced on. I remembered the ally that was out behind the old grocery store. It was revolting and nasty but it was much better than being spotted in public. I tore through the old, broken door and hid beneath the bags of trash in the darkened pit. Something wasn’t right. The faint sound of feet became more distinct as the figure grew closer. I held my breath and could feel the trash bags moving. I reached to get up and grabbed something. It was fleshy and warm. “What the hell?” It jerked back. Was it another human? I could hear the sound of heavy breathing. Whatever it was, I needed to know. I heard the sirens speed past the ally. I waited for the other “thing” to move before I did. After half an hour, I assumed it had slipped out without me noticing. I stood and stretched. The sound of footsteps became clear. There was something or someone still here with me. “I see you’ve acquired a large amount of blood. Are you hurt?” “I’m fine, it’s not my blood.” “I was hoping not.” “Uhhh, okay.” His voice was empty, cold. He was tall, yet in a sense tiny. His hair was jet black and he wore a 14g lip labret. His eyes were emerald green. He seemed to gleam with intelligence. His body stumbled closer and as he did the air became colder. Goosebumps formed on my arms and legs. I struggled to catch my breath. Something about him was so different. I hadn’t known what it was, but I hoped to soon find out. I guess he had known I was cold for he had given me his jacket. He wrapped his arm around me as we walked. I felt something I hadn’t felt in three years. I felt close to someone. He offered me to sleep at his house that night. I declined regrettably. He told me he wanted me to keep the jacket. This way he had a reason to meet me again tomorrow. The night grew dark and cold. I noticed then I hadn’t even asked him his name. I quickly fell asleep in the barren building I had grow so familiar to.