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Feel free to edit this as much as you can, for I was really tired when I translated this and the last chapter. So yeah, have fun with that :D

Weilai signature 17:10, September 15, 2014 (UTC)

Chapter 1 Edit

I storm out of the room, searching for the warm softness of my bed. Why? Why? The question returns in several ways, sometimes mad, sometimes hopeless and silent. Why won’t they give me extra money?! I open my closet. I mean, I’ve grown three centimetres this summer! And come on, like anyone still wears “”that”” T-shirt. It’s so old, it might as well have been worn by cavemen, bonking on each other’s heads while growling weirdly.  Why did they hit each other? Didn’t they have something better to do? Probably not. That’s why it took people so long to invent Facebook! They could have just started on that instead of growling and doing macho-like. I look to my shorts. “”So”” two weeks ago! How can anyone wear that?! I need to resist the urge to look at my other old clothes, I have to be angry! And inconvincible! And strong! And... and... man, I really need new clothes... My phone’s beeping. It’s Yara. “How did it go?” Once again angry, I nearly punch the digital keyboard: “They said no! And then they started about how much money I’ve spent last summer on clothes. Yeah, BUT THAT WAS ONE YEAR AGO!”

Yara is my best friend ever. She understands me like nobody else, and we make the perfect team. Most of the time we’re together, we’re liking cute guys’ profile pictures on Facebook.

Yara: “OMG how dare they? You need that money!”

I’m about to send her a raging answer, but that moment, my two most hated persons alive shout: “Cornelia! Dinner’s ready!" 

Cornelia is such an ugly name. And Tuesday is fishday. Yuck. As I’m protestingly silent, I just eat. It’s white fish. Without sauce. Can my life become worse?! My parents are talking about the most boring things (Do you know when Ruschovski has his next concert?) and my brother, the only thing in this house that used to be a little fun, is in college. First year psychology. Yay, me with these two boring people. When we’re done clearing the table, I sprint upstairs, until my dad shouts: “Cornelia? The dishes need to get done! 

WHAT?! We have dishwasher! Why would I need to do the dishes?!

“Because it’s broken.”

That was thought out loud. Shit.

“Don’t curse.”

----

Later that night I return to texting with Yara, but she simply doesn’t respond. I decide to spend the night in front of the television. The ads are over... and it shuts down. And the light does, too. It’s pitch black, and creepily silent. The universe has decided to hate me. Great. I shout: “What’s going on?”

“Blackout” is the answer.

I just decide to not play in the universe’s stupid hating-Cornelia game and head of to bed, even if it’s only nine. Maybe it’s better if this day is over sooner.

---- 

I get up with a shock. A muffled bonking noise sounds through the house. What “”is”” that?! Someone is slowly going down the stairs. I’m battling with myself, until I can’t handle not knowing what’s going on and head downstairs. For a moment, I don’t see a thing, but then I see – and hear – hands on the glass of our front door. And hard.

“Cornelia, go get your mother.”

His voice is cracking. I don’t really get it, but still run to my parents’ bedroom. She’s snoring peacefully. She can really sleep through this?! I shake her arm. Still snoring. I shake again, harder this time. Still. Without thinking about it I run to their bathroom, get a glass, fill it with water and throw it in her face. She’s awake all right, but not that happy.

“Cornelia! Why did you do that?”

No time for explanation. I pull her down the stairs, to dad.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Those hooligans are going to destroy that door! We have to get out!”

I run faster than the wind upstairs, to my phone, because there is no way I’m leaving my baby behind with those guys. I sprint back down the stairs, but now mom isn’t there.

“Where is she?”

“Getting stuff! Tell her to hurry!”

I see her, a couple of metres behind me, and then the slow-motion kicks in.

The white hinges of the door break down, and the door falls. Literally. One moment of total silence, then a monster-like sound. Some guy walks in, and I almost throw up. He’s missing a giant part of his head, and the part he does have, is horribly disfigured. There’s a gaping gap in his cheek, his teeth are shades of yellow and black, he’s missing half of his right arm. What hooligans would do this? Then he trips and falls. And gets squashed by a mass of people like him, most with worse injuries. They storm in, and push us back.

“WE HAVE TO GET TO THE BACK DOOR!”

My parents stand still, in shock. The next moment, we’re running for our lives. It’s maybe just some metres to the door, but right now it’s like a marathon. We sprint through the kitchen, and I stop for a second to pick up a knife. That should scare them off, right? Then, we continue to run.

My dad falls. Slipped over some water. The things are fast-approaching, and my dad’s unconscious. Not now, universe!

“MOM! DO SOMETHING!”

When you’re a doctor there should be something you can do?! But she just stands there. Doing nothing.

“MOM!”

Just standing there. Do I have to help him now?! I shake him, but he’s far gone. And then it hits me. We have to leave him behind. I grab my mother’s hand, and I run. The last couple of metres are like an infinity to me, but we make it to the tree house in the garden that nobody ever uses anymore. The ladder is dangerously creaking, but it holds until we are both safely up.

Then, we hear the screams. The most terrible noise ever. And it slowly gets to me. I spilled water while doing the dishes, and fled. I left him behind. I start to cry.

“What’s happening, mom?”

“William... William... William...  William... William...”


I made my mother go insane and I killed my father.

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