Shock.
Pure shock is what it is.
I run as fast as I can, feet thudding against the sidewalk, creating a rhythm that compliments the sound of heavy raindrops plopping against the ground. I clutch my notebook and pen so hard until my hand throbs with pain. "Farther!" the voice in my head screams. "Farther! Get away from there!"
How is it possible? My parents, dead? Such a harsh thing for a 14 year old's mind to consume.
I replay the previous events in my head.
"Face it. They're dead. Gone. Get over yourself." Cody had told me. I officially hate him. Not that I hadn't hated him before, but now I hate him with a burning passion. My parents are dead! How? Why? When? And who gave my evil stepbrother permission to break the news to me in such a heartless manner?
I find an abandoned street, or so it seems. I sit down on the wet ground, rain seeping into my jeans. I close my eyes and try to piece together my mushed-up mind. The raindrops echo against the ground, soothing my aching head.
Suddenly, the noise around me dwindles down to a steady "pitter pat." The rainclouds ring out their last few drops, twisting and shaking small pellets down to the earth. I watch, eyes glued to the circular mass of water as it transforms from a glossy bead into a two dimensional circle on the sidewalk, staining the white-gray concrete a dark charcoal color. I crane my head up to look directly into the sky. The clouds draping the sky march along with a mission. Going somewhere. Small puzzle pieces scrambling aimlessly until they click into place and continue on with the rest. Harmoniously hovering, small splotches of white against the gray sky. Every once in a while, a small, scrawny cloud separates itself from the rest, indignant to the larger clouds gesturing it forward.
I snatch my notebook off the damp sidewalk, flip to an empty page, and jot down a few adjectives that come to mind when I look at the sky. I tend to do this a lot, scribble a few describing words or doodles down that describe what I'm experiencing at the moment. The ink from my lucky pen leaves a royal blue streak across the page as I write down these words:
Orderly
United
Marching
I squint back at one cloud that has separated itself from the other clouds. The next word comes to mind without any hesitation:
Independent.
I stare at the word, permanently tattooed on the page forever. Independent... That's when I know what I must do. I scoop up my notebook from the damp sidewalk, push myself off the ground, and begin to run.
