Broken Silence

Chapter 1: My new life

Eight years had passed.

Eight years since a man came into my house.

Eight years since he took my parents.

I still had nightmares about it. I saw the man's shape, standing over their bloody bodies, but couldn't see his face. Of course that frustrated me, pained me, but what frustrated me the most was that I had woken up from one nightmare and entered another.

"Wake up, you little brat!" I heard outside my door.

Great. I think I'm late for school. I thought while making my bed.

Ah, school... the place where tribes collide, and an endless battle for leadership begins.

How I detested school.

Why? Because of the people, with their looks and the attitude. I didn't like them; they didn't like me. I was what they called a 'loner' and in this world, a 'loner' almost never survives, but I did. Always alone, didn't need anyone helping me with anything, didn't want people slowing me down. Normal people would go insane at the very thought of being alone, but what good are friends when they're just going to turn their backs on you? Hate you for being yourself? What good is having someone to "love", when it's only for a short while? It is rare to see friendships last after school ends and even rarer to see high school sweethearts stay together until their wedding day and beyond.

I got dressed in the first thing I saw. A black hoodie, black pants, and plain black shoes. Not only was my selection of clothing extremely limited; but also the color black was the easiest way to fit into the shadows, the easiest way to be ignored, forgotten, never looked at. I brushed my dark brown hair, then went to the kitchen of the Devil's house (a.k.a. my foster mother). I sat down at the table.

Suddenly I felt a clawed hand take hold of my hair, pulling back sharply. Pain exploded on the back of my head, and another hand grabbed my chin. My hand instinctively went to the one at the back of my head, and I had to make an effort to stop it from trying to pry my foster mother's hand off my scalp.

"Aren't you going to make breakfast?" the Devil yelled into my ear.

You don't have to yell. I thought, quickly giving her a small nod. She harshly let go of my hair. My ears rang as I stood up and grabbed some milk and eggs. I quickly made scrambled eggs. Then the small stick of pink (a.k.a. the Devil's spawn. a.k.a. my foster sister) came down the stairs. She had a way too short skirt, too revealing shirt and heels on, her strawberry blonde hair was in a high ponytail. She was the perfect example of the stereotyped, rich, white girl that is not nice to anyone and gets everything she wants. It was actually very frightening.

"Hey, honey!" Tamara, the Devil, said. I plated the eggs.

"Hey, mommy!" the Devil's spawn, a.k.a. Brittany, said. No offense to all the other Brittany's of the world who were not evil monsters that preyed on men and credit cards. This Brittany was like a clone of the Devil; too happy, too greedy, too much of everything.

They air kissed. "It is, like, such a pretty day! Maybe we should go get a tan after school." She grabbed the eggs and then divided them between her and her mother.

"I know! We will, honey! Your father left this morning on a business trip. He says that maybe if the deal between his company and their competitors happens then... we'll be even richer!" she squeaked.

Money? Was that all people wanted these days? What about using that money to solve real problems ... like global warming ... or the "find" cure for cancer? But no, everything revolves around money, but money doesn't seem to revolve around everything.