The Fighter Girl

Chapter One

The insistent beeping of my alarm clock pulls me away from another unsurprisingly bad dream. The glowing scarlet eyes which regularly haunt my dreams lingers in the back of my head. Rubbing my face, my hands still shake from the dream.

It's unfortunate I'm unable to recall anything but those scarlet eyes. They look so familiar yet so foreign to me, it disturbs me that I can never see who they belong to. I yearn to remember more of my dreams.

Wrapped in layers of blanket, I roll over to face the clock that sits beside my bed. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dark room and the red glowing numbers. The bold red numbers, 4:00, cause make me groan aloud as if to tell the world how annoyed I am. It's four in the morning. If I didn't have to awake at this time trust me, I wouldn't. Being a night owl rather than an early bird I'm usually going to bed at this time or close to it.

Knowing just why I have to get up at this time today motivates me the slightest bit. The moving trucks should be here in an hour or two, to de-clutter the living room of piled boxes. Slowly rising from my warm bed makes to be a difficult task. My body aches in protest so I hold the blanket with clenched fists. Huffing in defeat, I throw the blankets aside just as a gust of cool air makes goosebumps crawl over my body and twists the curtains.

Feeling more awake now I bregrudingly get up to shut the window. Just as I'm about to walk away I catch my reflection in the closed window, the dark circles under my eyes from late nights feel heavy. The longer I stare at my reflection the deeper my frown becomes.

"I look like shit," I mutter to myself while desperately trying to pat stubborn hairs down. Somehow finding an elastic, I throw my hair up into a pony tail, to keep my hair from aggravating me.

Waiting for me in the attic are boxes to sort through from the remaining things that survived the fire. I've never bothered with the boxes in the attic before, actually, I couldn't even bring myself to open the boxes. In those boxes are only pieces of my life before the fire, pieces of what was my family. I'm afraid that I will miss the ghost of my life before.

While on route to school everyday, I always take a few minutes to look over the spot where a house once stood. My eyes examine the barren land as I wonder what life would have been like if the fire hadn't happened. Would there be a happy family? What would have been different if that grey house still stood today?

Alex isn't my blood father nor is he related to me in any way, but he's my father nonetheless and I'm lucky to have him. He was there for me when I had no one, he taught me how to box when I couldn't seem to get my anger out after being antagonized at school all day. Most of all he was there when my parents and little brother where wiped off the face of this earth by a fire when I was just a helpless, lost kid. Thanks to him, my life had a bit of normalcy.

Running into the kitchen, I drop some toast down into the toaster. I'm notified by the *pop* sound of the toaster that my quick breakfast is ready to be completed. Crumbs from the bread fall into my hands until I set it on a plate. Quickly swiping my hands on my shorts I reach over the counter to grab the butter knife. Spreading some peanut butter on the toasted slices of bread I chow down as fast as possible. Though it's nearly impossible to eat the rough toast and sticky peanut butter fast without choking. Between each bite I gulp down some water.

Taking the stairs two at a time I almost trip. I can't help but make a face at the carpeted stairs before I steady myself once more. The whole point of having a carpet on the stairs is to prevent tripping or falling but it's all I ever seem to do.

Throwing open the door to my bedroom it roughly connects with the wall, instantly making me recoil. Hesitantly, I pull the door away from the wall to see just how much damage I've caused. Only seeing the paint was scuffed a bit makes me take a relieved breath. Getting back on track I snatch my towel from the vanity chair before rushing into the bathroom for a quick shower.