Shadows

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I bolted up in my bed, cold sweat beading on my forehead. It was that same dream again. Well, it was more like a nightmare really. I’d been having it for weeks on end now and every time I woke up with the same cold fear. It took me a moment to realize I had been woken by my mother pounding rapidly on my bedroom door.

“Arina, get up! You’re already twenty minutes late!” She called to me through the wooden barrier.

I sighed deeply, throwing the thick, dark purple covers off of the rest of my body and swung my legs over the side of my bed. I stood quickly as my mother began her banging once more.

“Arina!” She yelled at me again.

I quickly made my way over to the door, grabbing the knob and twisting as fast as I could to get her to stop. The door swung open and I found my mother standing right outside in baby blue sweat pants and a white tee shirt. It had become her version of pajamas. Her thin, dainty hand was raised, ready to band on my misused door again.

When she saw me her hand immediately dropped to push a strand of her messy, dark brown hair behind her ear. “Oh, you’re awake,” She commented, “Good.”

I was about as tall as my mom and I had her thin figure and pale complexion but that was all I shared with her. I was told I looked most like my father with my jet black hair and bright amber-golden eyes.

I smiled softly at her, “Yep, I’m awake.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go make us some breakfast then,” She said brightly, turning and heading back down the hallway towards the stairwell.

“Don’t work too hard,” I called after her. You see, my mom was recently made an only parent. And since I was her only child she worked much harder then she needed to, making sure I was happy. Ever since my father died in a fatal car crash just a year ago, she had taken on an extra shift at work and barely ever took a vacation so she could pay all of the bills.

I turned away from the door, shutting it softly before I made my way over to my closet. I slid the doors open and glanced around at its contents. I completely ignored the dresses hanging on the top rack above my slightly worn mahogany dresser. I never wore them anyways. The inside of the dresser was filled with tee shirts, tank tops, and jeans. It was a small closet, not much, but I was fine with it. I stuck my head inside and began pulling open the dresser’s drawers, shifting through the mass of clothing until I pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans and a teal, long sleeve, falloff shirt. I pulled a blank tank top on under the shirt and grabbed my trusty comb and brush.

Many people loved my hair and they always told me that they would kill to have my hair. I don’t understand it. It was the absolute hardest job in the world trying to get it untangled in the morning. But I guess, once the knots were all gone it was kind of pretty. I start running the comb through my hair, pulling out all of the knots with it. Afterwards I run the black strands through the plastic bristled brush, making it soft and smooth.

My hair fell back around my shoulders in gentle waves as I placed the bush down on the vanity in front of my mirror. I swiftly swiped a bit of eyeliner and mascara onto my eyes before I stood back, gazing at myself in the mirror. My pale complexion and skinny build made my long black hair stand out even more than it already did. But the feature that stood out the most on me, were my eyes. My eyes were a bright golden-amber like they had been dipped in paint.

I sighed and turned away, hastily pulled on my worn and ratty black Converse, tossing my backpack over my shoulder. I ran downstairs to find my mom in our small kitchen cooking handfuls of greasy, fatty bacon and flipping two plates of pancakes on the griddle. She had a bright red and white apron draped over her tee shirt and sweats.