Escaping Them

Chapter 1

People only really think about themselves. Everyone is so busy worrying about what everyone else thinks of them they forget to think about other people. The human brain is filled with layers upon layers of thoughts and unconscious trails behind the actions the body takes.

Like an onion. Brains are a lot like onions. Reasons behind reasons behind lies we tell ourselves. In the end no one really lives a truthful existence, even to themselves.

I like to watch people, to peel back the layers of their onions. In a world with the powers of Gods, I was gifted (or cursed) with the power of telepathy. I can hear secrets that make me doubt humanity, and see the good in someone who seems hopeless to everyone else.

So many voices. Near, far, old, new, loud, timid, happy, scared.

All the time.

Completely overwhelming.

I hate the voices. They blend and mix with my own thoughts until I can't even remember what is real anymore. Truth and fiction mixed together in the world's worst imitation of soup. A melting pot of brains and words. Nothing can completely drown the torrent I am drenched in every time I leave the sanctuary of my cozy room in my safe, quiet home.

Well, when I had a room. In the before.

Before the blood on the walls,

Lifeless eyes.

Terror.

I blink my eyes hard, willing my conscience back to the present. I am standing in the bathroom. Not my bathroom. Not yet. I can hear my new foster family's thoughts faintly downstairs, wondering about the mundane things of life. I stare into the mirror at my pale face, and slanted green eyes. I look so normal, so ordinary, like my life is great and I could really be a part of this family. I take my two index fingers and stick them in the corners of my mouth, and bring them up towards my sad eyes. A smile for a happy, ordinary, girl. Except now I just look like a demented clown. I drop my hands, and scowl at my reflection. My black hair is ratty and matted with bedhead, and my green eyes look back at me, piecing my soul as though they can see through me just like they see through everyone else. I reach for my bag and take out my brush, running it through my tangled locks.

Today is the first day with my new foster family. The Smiths were the picture perfect cookie cutter family, with two straight A kids, a white picket fence, pasted smiles, and secrets hidden in the closet. Not even the most perfect looking family is happy. I wouldn't even know Mr. Smith was sleeping with his secretary unless I could read minds. Their masks are immaculate. Mrs. Smith definitely knows, but she doesn't want to ruin this perfect looking life they have together on the outside. In the end though, does it even matter? What is the image or joy without the real thing?

I pick up my phone from the ledge on the sink where it sits. 7:15. I have 15 minutes left to eat and finish getting dressed for school according to the only notification on the screen, a text from Mrs. Smith telling me what time they are leaving. So I quickly throw on my lucky red shirt, and favorite pair of shorts before heading downstairs to the smell of bacon and pancakes.

Mrs. Smith is at the stove with one of those cute blue and white strapped aprons with frills on the edges wrapped around her tiny waist, her beautiful blond hair secured in a tight knot at the base of her neck. At the counter, my two new foster siblings sit, Lily, and Avery. Lily is tiny, like a micro human. I swear she must only be 5 ft tall. with her reddish hair, freckled face, and oval pink rimmed glasses she looks like the female embodiment of the name "freddy". Avery isn't short. In Fact he is the opposite of everything his twin sister is. If Lily is summer, warm, loving, and kind, Avery is winter, frigid, quiet, calm, and secretive. His dark brown hair falls over his ice blue eyes that are framed with long eyelashes and a handsome face.