Fly girl

Chapter One:

"Why were there no super heroes during 9/11"? I thought as I ran past the place where the twin towers use to be. The anger coursing through me made my blood rise and made me run faster... as I ran faster I forgot about the many people around and shot off the ground into the sky barely missing a building.

Yes, I can fly. Yes, I can control the weather and, yes, I love it . I don't know how. I don't know why... and frankly I don't care. The wind running though my long brown hair felt good and calmed me down enough to realize I left my alcoholic mother home alone without hiding the alcohol. "Damn it", I thought as I switched directions and headed toward my house.

My mother is an alcoholic. She started when I was 6, exactly 10 years ago. The day that my dad never came home. The day the towers went down and killed many; including him. It sent my already depressed mother over the edge. Now she cares about nothing except alcohol. She cares nothing about me or her own health. A lot of people tell me that I need to send her to rehab but that would mean me going into the system, that is one thing I don't want to do.

As I get into the house I pull out my lighter and light a cigarette. When I said she didn't care what I did I wasn't kidding. She doesn't even notice when I'm gone for 2 days unless she runs out of alcohol. I take a drag letting the smoke attack my lungs, I let go of the smoke and scream, "MOM??? WHERE ARE YOU NOW?!?!" I heard a moan come from my bathroom and groan. She says she can't help when she gets sick, yet she always ends up in my room. It's not really my room. Its like a guest room. When I do sleep I go in the attic. I fixed it up so when I get in from a long flight it wont be a heavy landing.

When I walk in my "room" all I can smell is beer. Beer and puke. My mother is draped over the toilet holding it like a life preserver and half asleep. "Mom?" I whisper quietly removing her hair from her mouth. She doesn't reply. "Mom??" I say a little louder. She grunts this time and rolls her face to the wall. "Have you gone to sleep yet Mom?" I groan, taking the bottle of vodka out of her hand. She shakes her head no and falls on the floor. I sigh and take a drag of my cigarette before putting it out. "Lets get you to bed." I say grabbing her left forearm and pulling her up.

"Thats a good idea," she laughs as she tries to stand, "wouldn't want your father getting home from work seeing me like this..." I just roll my eyes knowing it's going to be one of her denial days. If she's not depressed she's drunk, and if she's not drunk she is in denial waiting for my dad to come walking in saying sorry for getting home late; 10 years late. It's not going to happen but I don't have the heart to tell her.

"Mom?" I say as I tuck her into her bed, "The town is getting suspicious... I need to go to school soon. I haven't gone in a year!" My mom looks at me and smiles....

"You can go to school. Have your father take you, I don't feel well. Anyway, you two would have good father-daughter time." as I finnish tucking her in I light another cigg. That is just another way of saying no. She is too sick. "If you say so mom. Go to sleep."

She rolls over and smiles. Thats right mother, go to sleep. Go to your only sanctuary. When husbands lived and buildings stayed rooted. When alcohol isn't God and nicotine isn't my sanity. Sleep, it's all you have to hold on to.