Broken Ties and Tangled Lies
Stupid Teens and Bad Dreams
I stopped and looked behind me; I finally outran them. I kept running straight ahead, down the long, narrow hallway in front of me. The passageway seemed never-ending as I ran and ran. It seemed that way, but looks can be deceiving. After about a mile, the hallway ended, also known as a dead end. The narrow, beige walls seemed to be closing in on my small frame. I was trapped. There was no where left to run.
I sat up straight in my bed, sweating, crying, trying to catch my breath. I had been having these nightmares for a month now, all of them revolving about this man that was chasing me and my family. He wanted my family dead, he wanted me in pain. I didn’t know what I did to him, but I knew he didn’t like it. These dreams were frightening me out of sleep. Frightened is an understatement. I was being torchered with this awful visions of my siblings hung, my face being beaten.
My name is Allison Stone, I’m 16. I have three siblings. My oldest brother’s name is Clay, and Clay is 17. My Little sister’s name is Paris, and she’s 13, and my youngest sibling’s name is Nathan, who happens to be 6. When I was 4 and Clay was 5, my father left us and went who knows where, and so did the father of my smaller siblings. My mother died 1 year ago due to a car crash. Since none of us were looking to be split up or put up for adoption, we were forced to move into my grandmother’s house. Meaning we had to move from sunny, warm Florida to the middle of nowhere in Kentucky.
My little brother, Nathan had been in the car when it had crashed, but happened to survive. If it hadn’t been for his favorite dinosaur carseat, he wouldn’t have been as lucky. Still, ever since that day, that horrible, awful, terrifying day, my baby brother had cried every night. We didn’t know what he was dreaming of, and none of us dared to ask. Little Paris would climb into his bed and sing him to sleep. And me, well I had Clay.
Clay was always there, and always would be. If I called, he would answer. We had only been a year apart, but he was so much more grown up than me. I had been abused. Verbally and physically. By other students, my father, and eventually, my grandmother. Some days she would hit me until I went unconscious. Clay always fought back. These were normally the things I dreamed of. Day in and day out. Clay was always there to wipe the tears away, to give a pep talk, or even a simple hug.
I hadn’t had any friends, just my brothers and sister. We went to public schools and I loathed it. My brother was popular, but not me. That kid that you see in the back of the class. The kid that does all of the work but never dares to answer out loud. The one who looks like a before picture on the makeup shows. The one who wouldn’t ever look you in the eyes, but rather at the floor. Yep, that was me. That had always been me. Now that you’ve gotten to know me, let’s get back to our story.
I sat up straight in my bed, sweating, crying, trying to catch my breath. I had been having these nightmares for a month now, all of them revolving about this man that was chasing me and my family. He wanted my family dead, he wanted me in pain. I didn’t know what I did to him, but I knew he didn’t like it. These dreams were frightening me out of sleep. Frightened is an understatement. I was being torchered with this awful visions of my siblings hung, my face being beaten.
My name is Allison Stone, I’m 16. I have three siblings. My oldest brother’s name is Clay, and Clay is 17. My Little sister’s name is Paris, and she’s 13, and my youngest sibling’s name is Nathan, who happens to be 6. When I was 4 and Clay was 5, my father left us and went who knows where, and so did the father of my smaller siblings. My mother died 1 year ago due to a car crash. Since none of us were looking to be split up or put up for adoption, we were forced to move into my grandmother’s house. Meaning we had to move from sunny, warm Florida to the middle of nowhere in Kentucky.
My little brother, Nathan had been in the car when it had crashed, but happened to survive. If it hadn’t been for his favorite dinosaur carseat, he wouldn’t have been as lucky. Still, ever since that day, that horrible, awful, terrifying day, my baby brother had cried every night. We didn’t know what he was dreaming of, and none of us dared to ask. Little Paris would climb into his bed and sing him to sleep. And me, well I had Clay.
Clay was always there, and always would be. If I called, he would answer. We had only been a year apart, but he was so much more grown up than me. I had been abused. Verbally and physically. By other students, my father, and eventually, my grandmother. Some days she would hit me until I went unconscious. Clay always fought back. These were normally the things I dreamed of. Day in and day out. Clay was always there to wipe the tears away, to give a pep talk, or even a simple hug.
I hadn’t had any friends, just my brothers and sister. We went to public schools and I loathed it. My brother was popular, but not me. That kid that you see in the back of the class. The kid that does all of the work but never dares to answer out loud. The one who looks like a before picture on the makeup shows. The one who wouldn’t ever look you in the eyes, but rather at the floor. Yep, that was me. That had always been me. Now that you’ve gotten to know me, let’s get back to our story.