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She was just out of high school and had no idea what to do with her life. Lucky for her, her mother and father had it all planned out, she would marry rich. Yep, that was they're wonderful plan! The only problem was that they didn't knew anyone that was rich, living in the slums had a tendency to drive all the rich, sparkling, covered in diamond men away. And thank God! Getting married was the last thing she wanted to do in her whole life. All her parents ever did was fight and bicker till they turned on her, and tried to guilt trip her into what they wanted, which was usually more alcohol. No, she didn't want to get her parents more alcohol, in fact its probably the only reason that they weren't alcoholics was because she refused to buy booze for them.

What she did want more than any thing in the world was to go to art school, she had saved since about grade five, every penny, dime and nickel she came across, all stashed away under her floor boards under her bed. She wasn't even close to what the tuition cost but it was a start. And maybe by the time she was around thirty she might be able to go. It was hard to save up money when she was the only one that worked, the only one that paid the bills and got the food. And all of that off a minimum wage job. She was surprised she had stayed afloat this long.

"Natasha!" Her father bellowed from across the room, sitting in his rugged lazy chair, watching the small T.V.

"Yes?"

"Go get me ice cream." Natasha sighed, pausing at her rhythmic chopping of the vegetables for supper.

"I'm making supper, you'll be too full after Dad."

"Did I ask for supper?"

"No, but I just-"

"NO! NO! I DIDN'T! That’s right! Now where's my ice cream!" Natasha dropped the sharp knife on to the wooden chopping block before she threw it at him.

"Are you going?"

"Yes dad, I need to get milk any way."

"Chocolate!"

"Yea, I know."

She grabbed her purse, wondering how she was going to pay for the milk and ice cream. She stopped right before the door and turned left, heading up the stairs.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! GET MY ICE CREAM!" He bellowed.

"I KNOW, I JUST NEED TO GRAB MY PURSE!"

"HURRY UP!"

She ran into her room, and moved the covers of her made bed aside, and pulled the worn floor boards up, she grabbed a ten as she promised herself she would replace it tomorrow. She quickly pushed the boards back into place and flopped her bed covers over. She ran back down the stares and walked out the door. She walked down to the gas station, opened the door.

"Hey Jimmy." She said as she walked passed the front counter.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

"Dad wants ice cream."

"I cant believe he can even fit another table spoon into his fat belly. Why do you put up with them?"

"They're my parents, Jimmy. I have to look after them."

"They have to look after themselves."

"Look, they looked after me, now I have to look after them. Its ok. Don’t worry about me Jimmy." Natasha said as she opened the cooler and grabbed her fathers favorite ice cream, then leaned over and grabbed a jug of milk.

"I can't help it... You know we would make a great couple."

Natasha smiled. "Right, until my parents force a wedding ring on your left hand." She laughed as she put the milk and ice cream on the counter.

"Right, forgot about that part." She laughed at his blush. Jimmy was a good guy, but he was a guy, only wanting one thing.

"So how much?"

"7.27" She pulled the ten out of her pocket and watch it disappear into the till. He gave her the little change back and bagged the food.

"Thanks."

"See ya."

"Bye!" She walked out of the gas station and started walking back to her home. She watched her feet move the ground behind her. The air was cold with the coming night, but not so cold it made her shiver. She used to like nights like these when she was yonger because it was the perfect temperature to paint out side. She had to sell her paints and canvas to pay the bills long ago. She missed painting, missed getting away from her life, missed the calm it brought.

"Give me your purse!" Natasha's head flew up, a man stood before her, a jagged knife in his hand.

"I don’t have anything."

"I SAID GIVE ME YOUR PURSE!" She jumped as he screamed at her, taking a threatening step toward her. She threw her purse on the ground beside him. He quickly bent and grabbed it, shuffling through it while keeping an eye on her.

"There's nothing in this piece of shit!"

"I told you, I don’t have any money." He dropped her purse and swiftly walked toward her, his hand came up faster than she expected, the knife cut into her like butter, she hardly felt the pain through her panic. She didn't remember falling, only feeling the cold ground against her skin, as she watched him run off. The cold seeped into her warm body as she felt her blood soak her shirt. She was cold now. She couldn't move, her limbs frozen in the pain that suddenly over whelmed her.

When the dark boots came into her dull sight she didn't know how long she had been laying there. She saw him crouch down, and saw his cold fingers drag across the ground where her blood had spilled out. She watched as he fingered the blood and then lifted his hand out of her sight up to his face. She was so cold, she couldn't even shiver, her muscles tight and locked. She heard him groan deeply, almost growling. Why wasn't he helping her? Why wasn't he taking her to a hospital?

She wanted to yell at him, scream and kick and show him she was still alive that it wasn't too late, if he hurried. She tried to look up at him through her heavy eyes, they wouldn't open more then a sliver. It took toonmuch strength to look up so she looked ahead of her.She was saw the sunset and thought to herself, 'It would have been beautiful to paint.'

He shifted closer to her, blocking her sight of the sun set. He moved his face down to hers. Brilliant blue. He had blue eyes. She couldn't hang on any more, couldn't stay awake, stay alive, she had to let go. She let her eyes slide closed before she lost control of her body and went limp.



Darkness was all she knew after that.

COMMENTS

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DeadAir
20:46 May 21 2008

Great Story. You should write more!



The Daywalker

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