*I do not own this story, a friend wrote it and asked me to put it up. I don't own the characters, or the screen play. All credit goes to her...Enjoy*
Prologue
Tuesday, August 19, 1985 morning (America)
“Kandis, come eat breakfast!” Mom's voice rang through the house. I ran down the hall and sat at the table. Mom put the smiley face pancakes in front of me and then she sat across from me. I looked at her shimmering green eyes, her cherry lips that stand out on her pale face, and her red hair that moves slightly as the normal stray cat walks in for food. I continue to stare at my mother but a weird thing draws my attention ; a claw mark with something red next to it.
“Mom what's that?” I said pointing to the mark.
She turns and looks at the mark. A bead of sweat rolls down her for-head,“That's been their since we moved in. Also Uncle Rod and cousin John are coming over.”
In my mind I'm cheering for delight. I finish my breakfast fast, and I plop my self on the couch until John arrives.
Saturday, October 9, 1985 noon
John and I were playing a game of chess when the phone rang. Mom came out of her room and answered the phone. She answered a few questions with yes, their was a shatter a glass, the phone hit the floor, and mom started crying. John jumped up and ran to her. Through her sobs I heard her tell John his father just died in a car accident. After a few minutes John came back, he sat down but his head was staring at the table. John pounded his hand on the table, his blue eyes filling with tears, his bottom lip started shaking, and his medium -length black hear was falling down in front of his face.
“Why?”I asked.
“What?”he asked.
“Why do you hold back your feelings?”
“You wouldn't understand why I choose to hold back my feelings.” he said almost crying. “You're only 5.”
John put his hand over his face I cried softly.
Monday, February 12, 1986 twilight
“John teach me how to fight!” I begged for the hundredth time that day. I thought that now that he lived with us he should teach me to fight.
“No! For the last time.”
“Just because I'm 6 and your 9 doesn't mean you can yell at me.”
John walked out side and started to practice his soccer. I plopped myself on the bench. After a few minutes, John asked if I wanted to play. I jumped up and ran to the golly position.
“Kick it as hard as you can,” I said excitedly.
“Are you sure?” he asked laughing.
“Yes.”
John can kick as fast as ninety miles and it hurts like you got hit by a car. I heard the ball being hit, and I put one foot behind me to keep my balance, and I extended my arms out to catch the ball. I caught it, and it sounded louder than a gunshot.
John looked at me in awe, “Maybe I should teach you to fight.”
Thursday, April 19, 1988 morning
John and I were out front practicing and there were a group of boys playing soccer in the street. John came at me with a spinning jump attack, and I kicked him away. He landed flat on his back. The boys started laughing. I turned towards them and I did about ten summer-salts, and then I punched one of them in the face. They all screamed “Get her.” I knocked out all except one, who woke up his friends and ran. I came back to John.
