[Day 76] Ash: Chapter 1

When I was in 7th grade, I thought that I was smart enough to write a whole novel. Although the intellect was indeed lacking, I managed to finish it. It would take me longer than the book is to explain to you the plot, so here’s the first chapter.

“Happy Birthday!”

I smiled hugely for the camera, hugging my new Wonder Woman doll, surrounded by my four older brothers. I had just turned six, and though the celebration was small, with cheap streamers encircling the room, I was the happiest girl in the world. That didn’t last long.

It was raining like no other; the drops pounding on our roof like tiny fists. The thunder roared louder than the angriest lion, the wind howled more piercing than the most forlorn wolf. Not exactly my idea of “birthday weather”, but then again, how could I complain? My hero was in my arms and my family was with me, healthy and alive. What more could I want?

I heard the click of the lock from the front door before anyone else. What they heard was the door splintering into the wall.

The intruder wasn’t a large man, as he was of average height, maybe a bit too thin, and his clothes were even less threatening than the rest of him. They were threadbare, worn down on the edges; they were and hung off him limply, even the leather jacket. I’m sure the rain didn’t help. This made the lump on his hip, though veiled by the jacket, all the more visible.

These were the first things I took in, being only six at the time; I tended to look at the most obvious things. But what made me notice the details were his eyes, observing us like a cat would observe a bird. They were brown, almost red, a sort of burgundy, I suppose. They were larger than normal, dwarfing his squared nose. His mouth was wide, but his lips were thin, as if they’d frozen in place the first time he’d pursed them. I could smell his breath from across the room, a fowl mix of peppermint and liquor.

“You!” He bellowed maniacally, his deep voice edged with a high pitch, from hysteria, perhaps. “It was you! Maria would be alive if it wasn’t for you! We would have the glory!”

“You know we had nothing to do with your wife’s death,” my father said leisurely, as if the man was slow, ”We are sorry for you loss.” Try as he might, he could not keep the fear out of his voice. He glanced at me.

“No, you’re not! You have everything you could ever want!” He screamed.

My brother, Kole, pulled me to him, as the other three had already instinctively done. Now, instead of being in a half-circle around a small pile of gifts, my parents were on one side and us kids were huddled together on the other.

“So,” the lunatic continued, through gritted teeth, “I’m about to dent that perfect life,”

With shaking hands he pulled a revolver out from beneath his coat, from a holster on his hip.

“Lou, please, don’t do anything rash, let’s talk about this…” My mother said reasonably, her voice quivering.

“No! I’ve had enough talking!”

“Bang!” He shot her through the head. She was dead before she hit the floor.

“Bang!” He shot my father in the chest before he had a chance to scream. We made up for that.

As we screamed hysterically, he turned to us, gun raised, as if he wanted to shoot us. I stopped screaming, as I needed all my energy to stop myself from charging at him. I could not control my face, though; I was livid.

He saw something in my face that made him laugh. “Spitfire,” he growled, “I’ll be back for you later,”

When he heard the pattering of neighbors and police sirens, he ran for it out the back door, looking back just once, grinning with malice.