A New Beginning – Blake's POV
The car drove along the highway. The rain fell from the sky leaving everything covered in water. I traced my finger down a falling water drop upon my window. Once it was gone, I sighed. I looked forward at the car in front of us and looked through the window to see two children watching a movie. That car seemed to contain fun, something this one lacked.
James, my social worker, looked over at me and said, "Hey champ, only two more hours and we're at your new home."
I sighed and then blurted out, "Why did I have to leave? Everything was fine there."
James sighed and said, "You'll understand when you're older." I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes at the sound of those words. Adults always tell that to children, it's stupid.
We continued to drive. James tried to talk to my but I blocked him out with my iPod. I didn't sing along, but the words moved along inside me. The words of the song expressed me, alone and fragile, no one to love, and no one to love me.
The car eventually turned and led us to a restaurant. I sighed and asked, "Really? Do we have time?"
James laughed, "There is always time to eat."
"Of course you'd say that," I whispered under my breath.
Even when walking the short distance from the parking lot to the restaurant we were soaked in rain. When James opened the door I walked in and slipped on the tile. Everyone in the diner took a laugh at me. I grew angrier and angrier until I screamed.
The moment that I screamed we heard a boom. The cook came out and said, "The oven exploded!" At that time everyone stared at me in disbelief.
"How?" they mumbled.
"What?" they whispered.
"Witch!" even some of them said. James put his hand on my shoulder and told me it was time to go. As we left the building a small crowd followed us to see what I did and how I did it. As we drove away I saw fire trucks and police cars drive up to the now in flames building.
I saw people waving their arms around and some people describing me to the sketch artist. I cursed under my breath and saw the pad burst into flames. I sighed and fell into slumber, then had a dream.
The sun in the sky was setting and my foster mother and I were rolling up the picnic blanket. My foster mother was the most beautiful women alive. She had short brown hair and rosy red cheeks. Her Yellow day dress came down to her yellow high heels. She always wore a yellow Sunday bonnet whenever we went out.
Once the blanket was wrapped we began to head home. Deciding to take the shortcut through the alleyway a man jumped out at us and held up a knife.
"Come with me!" he told my mother.
At only five I stepped in front of her courageously and said, "No!"
He said, "Watch it kid or I'll hurt you too."
"Blake leave," my foster mother said, "I'll be fine." I started to walk away and then heard my foster mother scream. I grew rage and turned around. I held my hand up and spoke words I didn't even know.
"Nequam," I spoke, "meam clament ad flammas cadetis, in vos mortem dormire cubili tuo hoc eritultimum spirtitum!" The man burst in flames and let my mother go. I went to her side to help her and she told me when we got home to pack our bags, she said it was not safe here.
We continued to walk until we reached our apartment complex. I stared at it as if something had changed.
"Come on," my foster mother urged.
"I, I…" I stuttered. She then grabbed me and took me up stairs, there we found a wrecked apartment. There were sofas torn and blood stained all over the carpets. Written in blood on the wall was, "Electus,venitelectusest, morsillum manet,vereorut."
We went into the apartment only to find my foster mother's emergency money and then left. We walked to a car dealership in which we used the money to buy a car. We were on the run ever since.
I awoke. That dream seemed so familiar, yet nothing like it taunted my memory. All that I remembered was the women's face and mine, my foster mom and me. I only seemed to remember last week when my mother and I were found. Once that door rushed open, it's like all of my memories faded.
As I awoke I noticed us pulling into a drive way. 'Are we here?' I asked myself. It was weird; it felt as if I was asleep for only five minutes when it was nearly two hours. Once we were in park my social worker and I got out of the car and walked up to the door.
Once out of the car I was able to admire the beauty of the house. Nice elegant pink wood with a white frame around. A freshly re-done roof and an apple tree in the front yard. I could see the second story windows, only with a hole in it.
I smiled, this place felt warm, it felt like home. Once we reached the door way I looked at my social worker and sighed. I then rushed back to the car to grab my bag.
When I got back he said, "Don't want to forget that, do you?" I rolled my eyes and pressed the doorbell. A buzz was heard then a muffling of steps. I squeezed the handle of my bag before the door opened. Finally a kindly old lady stood in front of us. I inspected her head to toe taking in every detail about. She seemed like an old version of my foster mother.
I admired her pink Sunday bonnet and her grey hair wrapped tightly in a bun. I enjoyed her pink day dress that come down to pink church shoes. I liked the white gloves she wore and the smile upon her face.
Everything was interrupted when she asked me, "Are you Blane?" My smile turned to a frown. That obviously wasn't my name, no one was named Blane.
"Blake," I responded, "and yes, that is me." She nodded as if making a mental note and stepped aside so that I could walk in. I proceeded forward and found myself in the living room. Unlike the outside of the house, the inside was dull. Everything was grey and white, plus, no TV.
"Great," I said to myself, "How is a thirteen year old supposed to entertain himself?" I continued to explore the home hoping to find anything interesting at all, sadly, I was disappointed.
I made my way back to the living room and sat on the couch. I waited for the lady and my social worker to finish up conversation. She walked up to me so I stood.
"Follow me," she said, "I will take you to your room." I lifted my bag off the couch and followed her upstairs. Once in the upstairs hallway the lady stopped, she bent over to pick up a piece of paper, read it, crumpled it, and held it in her hand. I wondered what the paper said but I kept my suspicion to myself.
She pointed at my door signaling it was my room. She headed downstairs and I stared at the door. The wood was stripped down with rusted hinges. There were a few small holes and a spider on it. There were plenty of names scratched into the door, and plenty of them scratched off. I didn't know it was my imagination but I saw Gregory being crossed out and Blake being etched in, as if air was doing it itself. I felt like turning around, but turned the handle to the right and pushed.