Post by isis on May 28, 2010 15:29:42 GMT -5
A young girl stood at the mouth of an alley. Inside, fungi and mold clung on to the rough red exterior of the brick. Her hair was tied back in a side-braid, smooth and silky. She bit her nails nervously. ’Why isn’t he here yet?’ she though. The girl wandered over to the door to her parents’ apartment and back to the alley mouth next door. “When are my mom and dad?” The girl bit her nails again.
Isis waited in boredom and nervousness. Normally, her parents would’ve been home by now. The babysitter left to go home and take care of her own 8 year old son since she was divorced. “What a sad woman,” Isis scoffed. Ti her, that babysitter was pathetic to lose a marriage. Realizing her thoughts were side-tracked, she focused again on the problem with her parents not being home. True, she should have been in their flat, watching T.V. or reading in bed, but Isis didn’t feel it was the right thing to do. Growing impatient, she took out her cell phone. Dialing her mother’s number, Isis held the phone to her ear. WE’RE SORRY, BUT THE NUMBER YOU HAVE TRIED TO DIAL IS NOT IN SERVICE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN. Isis looked at the phone as if it changed into an alien pet. She dialed her dad’s phone. Same thing happened. Panic soon set in. Isis, as not being very rational at the age of twelve, went to a neighbor’s house and screamed/cried to them about what happened. They were perplexed also, as Isis’s parents were very responsible and would never leave their child alone for more that 2 hours after the babysitter left. The neighbor also asked Isis why she didn’t call 911 in the first place. She didn’t have a very good explanation, only whimpers and a few grunts were the answer.
The operator answered the line and asked the usual question, where are you, are you OK, what’s the problem, etc. The neighbor explained to her the entire situation, since Isis was breaking down. A police officer soon arrived at the door to meet her after about 20 minutes. Isis, better at that time, miraculously retained her composure as she informed them the whereabouts of her ‘missing’ parents. The officer looked at her strangely.
“Mam, that museum was bombed tonight. There was no one else at the museum that we know of.”
“But, sir, my parents went there! They never lie to me!” Isis shrilled, shocked.
“CHHT. OFFICER,WE FOUND TWO BODIES OVER AT THE MUSEUM. OVER.”
“Copy that. Are they a male and female?”
“CHHT. YEP, AS WE CAN TELL SO FAR. OVER.”
The officer turned to Isis. “Looks like we found your parents. I’m sorry, but you have to go to foster care. There is no longer an adult that can legally raise you unless if it is a foster home.” Isis looked at him, with a gaping mouth. Tears flooded her eyes.
“No. It can’t be true! NO! YOU’RE LYING! HOW COULD YOU?” Isis pushed past him and ran out the door, bumping into objects. She didn’t care. All Isis wanted to do was run away. Run away from the truth.
A young mare stood in the midst of the dark graveyard. Mist surrounded her body, covering it with a ghostly gray web. Inside her mind replayed the day she found out her parents died in a freak bomb accident. Though she couldn't cry right now, Isis knew that as soon as she returned t her human form, tear would flood her eyes faster than she can blink. She hated that. Isis NEVER cries.
She was incredibly bored. Waiting in the cemetery for no one in particular. 'I wonder if anyone would come here tonight, she thought. Isis scoffed at the idea. Who would want to talk to HER? She's mean, sarcastic, inconsiderate, and so on. Walking slowly, delicately picking her way through the tombstones and underbrush, her hooves hit something hard. "Ouch! What the hell was that?" she swore. Looking down, Isis saw a flat tombstone, quite unlike the others she saw. It was small, quaint and it seemed to merge with the ground. Since the lighting was poor, Isis abandoned the stone, unable to decipher it. She continued walking, bored.
Isis waited in boredom and nervousness. Normally, her parents would’ve been home by now. The babysitter left to go home and take care of her own 8 year old son since she was divorced. “What a sad woman,” Isis scoffed. Ti her, that babysitter was pathetic to lose a marriage. Realizing her thoughts were side-tracked, she focused again on the problem with her parents not being home. True, she should have been in their flat, watching T.V. or reading in bed, but Isis didn’t feel it was the right thing to do. Growing impatient, she took out her cell phone. Dialing her mother’s number, Isis held the phone to her ear. WE’RE SORRY, BUT THE NUMBER YOU HAVE TRIED TO DIAL IS NOT IN SERVICE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN. Isis looked at the phone as if it changed into an alien pet. She dialed her dad’s phone. Same thing happened. Panic soon set in. Isis, as not being very rational at the age of twelve, went to a neighbor’s house and screamed/cried to them about what happened. They were perplexed also, as Isis’s parents were very responsible and would never leave their child alone for more that 2 hours after the babysitter left. The neighbor also asked Isis why she didn’t call 911 in the first place. She didn’t have a very good explanation, only whimpers and a few grunts were the answer.
The operator answered the line and asked the usual question, where are you, are you OK, what’s the problem, etc. The neighbor explained to her the entire situation, since Isis was breaking down. A police officer soon arrived at the door to meet her after about 20 minutes. Isis, better at that time, miraculously retained her composure as she informed them the whereabouts of her ‘missing’ parents. The officer looked at her strangely.
“Mam, that museum was bombed tonight. There was no one else at the museum that we know of.”
“But, sir, my parents went there! They never lie to me!” Isis shrilled, shocked.
“CHHT. OFFICER,WE FOUND TWO BODIES OVER AT THE MUSEUM. OVER.”
“Copy that. Are they a male and female?”
“CHHT. YEP, AS WE CAN TELL SO FAR. OVER.”
The officer turned to Isis. “Looks like we found your parents. I’m sorry, but you have to go to foster care. There is no longer an adult that can legally raise you unless if it is a foster home.” Isis looked at him, with a gaping mouth. Tears flooded her eyes.
“No. It can’t be true! NO! YOU’RE LYING! HOW COULD YOU?” Isis pushed past him and ran out the door, bumping into objects. She didn’t care. All Isis wanted to do was run away. Run away from the truth.
A young mare stood in the midst of the dark graveyard. Mist surrounded her body, covering it with a ghostly gray web. Inside her mind replayed the day she found out her parents died in a freak bomb accident. Though she couldn't cry right now, Isis knew that as soon as she returned t her human form, tear would flood her eyes faster than she can blink. She hated that. Isis NEVER cries.
She was incredibly bored. Waiting in the cemetery for no one in particular. 'I wonder if anyone would come here tonight, she thought. Isis scoffed at the idea. Who would want to talk to HER? She's mean, sarcastic, inconsiderate, and so on. Walking slowly, delicately picking her way through the tombstones and underbrush, her hooves hit something hard. "Ouch! What the hell was that?" she swore. Looking down, Isis saw a flat tombstone, quite unlike the others she saw. It was small, quaint and it seemed to merge with the ground. Since the lighting was poor, Isis abandoned the stone, unable to decipher it. She continued walking, bored.