𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 → 𝐒. 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄
𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.

     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 low over Beacon Hills, California, creating a somber mood over the small town.  The roads were wet from the day's scattered showers, making the red, yellow, and green from the stoplights reflect brightly against the dark asphalt.  A lone red SUV sped down the highway into town, driving at least twenty miles above the speed limit -- the driver was too anxious to get to her childhood home to drive at a reasonable speed.  The car shone under the streetlights as it turned onto residential streets, finally slowing down once a familiar light green two-story home came into view.  It pulled to a stop on the curb behind a broken-down black car, the driver suddenly becoming self-aware as she gazed up at the house.

     The driver's side door opened and a pair of beat-up Converse shoes stepped onto the pavement, quickly followed by four large black paws.  The dog circled her owner's legs before running onto the lawn and sniffing around.

     "Kota!" The driver hissed, pocketing her keys and shutting the door of her vehicle.  She stalked after her dog, a large black Belgian Malinois, scolding her for running off. "Kota, get back here!  C'mon, girl."

     The dog trotted back to the girl, panting happily with her tongue hanging out of her mouth almost joyfully.  She lapped at her owner's hand, letting her know that she was just as happy to be away from San Francisco, before turning and prancing up the porch steps.  She knew the home all too well and was eager to get back inside.  Her owner shared that desire, but she wished she could be as confident about the decision as her dog.  The girl followed her dog, her steps less enthused.  Her feet were hesitant as she climbed the stairs and stepped up to the front door.

     The last time she was on that porch, she was twelve years old (almost thirteen, as she loved to hold over her brother's head because she was just a couple months older than him).  She had a large pink Bobby Jack Brand suitcase beside her and tears running down her puffy and blotchy cheeks.  Her arms were locked around her half-brother, crying and soaking his jacket with her tears.  Now, she was standing with her dog, her suitcases packed in her car, and her cheeks were dry.  But, she was just as nervous and anxious as the last time.  She hadn't thought about her plan.  That afternoon when she came home to a note on the refrigerator, she tore it down and stomped upstairs, ready to pack up her room.  She already knew what it said.  It would be an empty apology from her father, explaining that he was leaving on another work trip and had left two hundred dollars for groceries.  He had a ready-made letter that he stamped onto a paper so he could post it and go.  Now she was hours from San Francisco, standing on the porch of her childhood home with her beloved dog and the desperate hope of being taken in by the homeowners.