The Red X (on hold)

Chapter 2- The flying shoe

“So, what is the idea this year Des?” the girls and I were on out favorite hill viewing the start of the school year. Mags, as always, asked me the prank this year expecting a new idea. Which I had.

“I can’t tell you right now”, I responded with a smile as I glanced at them. I was so lucky to have them, and we all looked so different. Reeses style was girly, Pip was tomboy chik, Mags was strong and cute, and mine was grunge. We were a weird thing to look at, and it was even worse when we were covered in flour. They all looked at me funny, normally when Mags asked I already told them everything in detail, it was kind of funny. “Don’t worry too much about it, I will tell you everything when the time comes, for now, relax and start your senior year with a positive mentality and innocent heart” I closed my eyes and lied down on the grass. It had been a wonderful day, partly the same but partly different.

I felt hands pushing my body down the hill and immediately opened my eyes before I kept tumbling down. Reeses and Pip were laughing as they ran away, Mags had stayed behind laughing too hard to try and run. I liked a chase, so I ran after Reeses and Pip, they knew from the start they would lose since I am the fastest of the group but it was still fun to see them try.

These were the moments in which I was thankful of the accident. Even if it ruined me in so many ways I wasn’t able to count, it made me brave enough to defend my friends. With the sun setting down, the leaves rustling, the voices of people enjoying themselves, and my breathing cold as it was more difficult to breathe, I knew that this year would be the best year of my life.

But shortly after so much running, we all had to get home and arrange our supplies. My house is average sized. It has a small yard, a second floor with two rooms, and a garage. We have two other rooms, one in the first floor and another in the basement, no one has ever entered those rooms in years. I still ask myself why we haven’t moved out of the house, each time I am in the house all I want to do is get out and do something else. But my mother would get worried, she works at home as an artist and notices every time I am gone too much.

If you look at my mother and then at me you wouldn’t see any similarities. While I have curly brown hair with blonde streaks, deep blue eyes and plump lips, my mother has straight blonde hair cut short, green eyes and thin lips. Plus the height difference, I surpassed my mother in height at the age of fifteen, finishing with a surprising 5 foot 8. My mother on the other hand, was incredibly petite. I sometimes forget to present her with her real name, sorry about that, she is known as Andrea Marshal but her real name is Anna Wurhst.

I live alone with my mother, my father couldn’t be with her anymore after the accident without screaming that it was her fault, so they had a divorce. I still see my father, but it wasn’t the same anymore. Even though he claims he feels fine and that things are in the past, I can see his guilt every time he looks at me. This means that my whole family thinks they are somewhat guilty when it actually was my fault. But talking about my father, let’s introduce him properly.

If I look nothing like my mother then the only option left was to look like my father, even though people tell me I am a better looking version. My father’s side of the family are all tall, brown eyed, and dark colored hair. That is because we have South American blood, mixed with European blood. My father is obviously taller than I am, but you get the drill. His name is Julian Marshal, a business man with quite the amount of money, but we aren’t even close to be the richest of the school. As always, we are average. He sells, weirdly enough, art supplies, so that was his gift to me every year.

Either way, I was explaining about my house, my room is in the storage room on the ceiling. I loved it, it was my shelter, and the window led me directly to the roof. The room was poorly illuminated, and because of the little space my books had to be stacked on the floor. To lighten things up, I had some led lights surrounding my bed and painted one small wall light blue. I had some posters hanging of my favorite bands and my collection of postcards from every place I had been before in order, everytime I looked at them I got a new piece of memory from the trip. But my pride and joy was my ceiling, I had painted my favorite constellations, and then I started to add my favorite quotes from books. My ceiling had turned into the collage of every single thing I looked at to relax. The only thing missing was the moon, but for that I only crawled to the roof. The ceiling was a work of art that started before the “Red X”. No one had ever seen it.