Chapter 9

Sheila sat on the bed with crossed legs, staring at the newsprint laying beside her. Her lips curved into a wide grin. "How can a man be this beautiful?" She giggled, tracing her fingers over the Charles's face on the newsprint. She reached out for a scissor, and deftly cut off his face, leaving Mr. Montero and Mr. Spielberg's. Taking up the piece of Charles face, she beamed holding it to her chest.

The wooden door flew open and Michael stepped in. Sheila stagged the picture behind her back instantly.

Michael planted his old traveling bag on the floor, sighing. His neck-length hair was disheveled and uncombed, sweat beaded his forehead, a shred of his grey shirt was ripped off. He looked as if he came from a clash.  He turned to face his sister, his eyes tuning in different  emotions of breaking down, or of glittering sadness.