Agliophobia

Chapter One

"At first, dreams seem impossible, then improbable, and eventually inevitable" -Christopher Reeve

Sawyer
It was a chilly October evening as I walk the dirt path no one should have to walk. If I tried I could most likely walk from my room to here blindfolded. But I wouldn't dare. Because I could run into him. Once I reach my destination I sit up against the willow tree adjacent to the engraved rock and just think. In front of me stood a nicely edged stone with the words 'Maycee Ann Smith-Jysler. Loving Mother and Wife. 5/06/78-2/10/10' engraved into it. How could that little describe someone so important. Someone who could light up a room with a smile. Someone who had inspired a broken little girl the day she took her last breath. My mother. Described with 3 words. Her smile engraved in my head like a sculpture. She was so beautiful. Long, wavy, blonde hair in which she gave me and astonishing emerald eyes. We were almost identical other than the fact that I inherited my fathers eyes. Blue like the ocean. When I was little she would tell me that she named me Sawyer because she knew it reach for my dreams. She looked for the best in people and in situations. She had me when she was a mere 22. My father being 26. Her family didn't approve of him at first, but once I was born they but their differences aside. My mother was an only child while my dad has a little sister, Delilah. We had always been really family oriented until September 27th 2002. That was the day of the first diagnosis. I was only two and didn't understand why my mommy was so sick. Then 3 years later came the second. Then the 3rd. One after another. The cancer was spreading like a wildfire. I grew up having intervals in which my home was a hospital room. Then on February 1st 2010 she went into a coma. 2 days after my birthday, February 10th, she died. My mother was gone. Like that. In a blink of an eye everything can change. Wether it be good or bad I don't know. But I do know that mine definitely was not for the greater good. Blame. My own father blamed me. For everything. And to this day I have no clue why.

Footsteps snap me out of my trance as I see a talk figure walking past and sitting in front of a headstone a few yards away. To low for me to hear, there is a few incoherent words, mumbles, them they...he... stood up and walked away. His eyes meeting mine for a solid second. It was the most peaceful male I'd looked at compared to my father. I was online schooled. So swing a male specimen other than my cold hearted dad was new and gut wrenching. We shared a moment in which we studied each other. I can tell he's looking at the scar that goes from my upper lip to my eyebrow on my left side. Beer bottle incident. The his eyes trailed to my body, stopping on the darker patch of skin due to a burn. Hot pan to the arm. I settled my own gaze on his beautiful green eyes, like my mothers. Many small scars are placed above his eyebrows and his lips. I turn away when I feel tears build up from his piercing gaze reminding me of my mother.

As I step into the threshold of my house the familiar scent of alcohol and smoke fill my nose. I peek my head around the corner and scan the living room for my drunken father to find him passed out on the couch. I quietly pick up all of the empty bottles and clean the full ash trays. I sweep up shards of glass and cigarette butts from the floor and take a dozen of warm booties of booze and place them in the fridge. My dad expects 2 things when he wakes up. A clean house and cold beer. If not all hell breaks loose. I have the bruise on my neck and back to prove it. Once I finish my tasks I climb the staircase and walk down the dark and empty hall to the attic stairs. After ascending those as well I hop onto my bed and stare at my ceiling. Ever since I got home the only think on my mind was those piercing green eyes. Who did they belong to? Why was someone so unique and attractive covered in scars and visiting a cemetery? Those and other question flooded my mind as I hear someone bounding up the stairs. I mentally prepare myself for todays beating.

Parker
2743 Elmwood Drive, lot 26b. An address I could and would never forget. My baby sister. Those monster killed my baby sister. I walk along the path and sit infront of her stone. Evangline Beátrice Vasquez. 7/12/08-8/24/11. She was 3. 3 fucking years old! They would do anything to get under my fathers skin. To make him angry. To make him put down his guard down. I tell my sister what I would always tell her when shes come to me crying, scared. "No hay necesidad de tener miedo a mi pequeña princesa . besr hermano está aquí."  After I say goodbye to my little sister I get up to leave when blue eyes catch my gaze. A beautiful girl stands yards away from me, examining me as I do the same. I notice the large scar going from her lip to her eyebrow. I also notice the large burn mark on her arm. Many other scars, cuts, and bruises catch my eye. I imediatly look at her wrists to see them cut free. I mentally relax and notice tears build up in her dull, lifeless eyes. She quickly turns away and runs towards the entrance of the cemetery. I quickly but quietly follow, only to find she was gone.