The Untitled.

[Short Story 1]

I stare up at the night sky.

Ever since I was little I loved the night sky. I was a huge selenophile and I loved it that way.

My Mum never let me go out. My theory was that she was scared.

As for my Father, unlike me, he did not see the beauty in creating things. He destroyed things whether with fire, water or with his cruel hands we never knew what it would be.

Obviously, the marks embedded onto my wrist and thighs spoke for themselves but nobody ever bothered to check.

Nobody even bothered to be slightly anxious at my introvert and perturbing behaviour for I had my messed up priorities to deal with and they had their simpler emotions to deal with.

I sigh and get up brushing the grass from my recently torn designer jeans. I then head inside however, the interior of my capricious home was not the same.

My Father was not home so I was expecting the smell of cooking and the noise of my Mum's beautiful voice laughing along. When my Father was at home it was a plethora of my Mum's behaviour being timid, demure and a ting of sadness. Sure there was the smell of food but it was not the same.

Pizza was ruined when my Father was home.

Neither events were happening right now in the present. And like my Mother, I was scared.

"Mum!" I yelled out. She was not in the kitchen- where she normally was. Even when my Father was home she agreed that 'woman belonged in the kitchen'.  She was not asinine to his behaviour she was merely timid.

I rushed to the living room. She was not there.  I began to move my legs towards the bedrooms but as I did so I stopped.

A strange smell lingered in the air. It was strange but familiar, I was used to the smell every night of my life.

Blood.

My sense clicked into me subconsciously, I travelled closer to the bedrooms. I could see my silhouette of a shadow moving but it felt like my body was not.

My silhouette was close to the brown cracked door then my silhouette stopped. Blood was soaked on the previously stained carpet.

It was crimson, it did not travel down the doors like liquids should but rather it stayed there as if it was taunting the very fact that a life was mostly likely lost and would never move again.

With that my order my arms moved and pushed the door. It would not move because of a previous episode where my Father had attacked the door in a fit of rage.

Then it gave way and the event that stood before me was an event I thought I would not have to ever experience.

My Father stood drinking a bottle that seemed like whisky a knife was clutched it his hand. The knife was clean but he was wiping it on a dark cloth. A malevolent but worried expression was etched onto his face but as he looked at me that expression changed to just malevolent.

If I could have- I would have frowned but my heart was still beating widely and that perplexed me.

Then I knew why. Less than half a cm from my feet was my mother.

I had been standing nearly on top of her the entire time. Blood polled from her open mouth, her teeth was stained with the own blood and one of her molars was dangling to the side.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw my shadow trembling and bending down. Lightly my shadow touched her jaw abruptly, her molar snapped.

I expected her to wake up. The pain would have surely woken her up. That's when it struck me; she could no longer feel pain. Her heart was gone along with the love for me.

I stared down at her body, her dress was ripped open show casting her upper body and some of her lower half and etched in blood-as if it had been dipped- were the words 'untitled to love' across her breast.

I gasped at the words, my Mother's nipples and clavicle were split in half and were raw.

"She never did like pain." My Father's face loomed above me a sick grin plastered onto it. I did not reply; the shock was too much.

His breath came closer to me and his words were incoherent but I knew what he said.

"Maybe it's time you felt pain."

The man I despise latched his hands onto my clothes and legs ripping and spreading them.

I could not let this happen to me, I would not. My body cracked underneath the violent situation I was in then I was kicking and screaming but I knew it was too late.

"Shush you."  The man who I wished I did not share blood with clammed his blood stained hands over my mouth and I presumed it was my Mother's. Until I looked down, my body was a identical mirror to what I had been done to my Mother.

A tear rolled down my face, I could speak.

"It's alright, cry." I sniffled at his words. "It's the last emotion you will feel."

With those words he slid into me and my hold body spilt apart. Not from lust nor desire but from cruelty and hate.

Finally, it all ended.

If you're reading this, thank you. Not just this story but the author's note as well.

This story was written before but I deleted all of it- it was a terrible story and I had no idea what I was doing. *I cry.*

Anyway, this story will be filled with short stories most likely from different characters

I'll probably update once every five or six days but school hasn't started yet perhaps, every two or three days.

Yay!

Gotta Zayn!

: )