Dark Horse
"You don't talk much. You haven't said hundred words since. It isn't healthy to keep to yourself and be a misanthrope. "
Before I would say something I would regret, I got up and walked away, clutching my sketchbook like a lifeline.
Where did it get worse? I angrily slapped my sketchbook into my bag, along with other books as last period ended. Scenes overwhelmed my mind, leading it down Memory Lane.
Crying, talking, begging and lots of tears filled the scene. My mother was bound, gagged and she was kneeling close to my father's body. His gray eyes were widened in shock and the bullet hole was pouring out blood.
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