March 18, 2011
By CarmH BRONZE, Maple Heights, Ohio
CarmH BRONZE, Maple Heights, Ohio
3 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us who can be against us?"-Romans 8:31 (KJV)

His voice rose up to high altitude making her tremble from her fragile waist to the top of her head. It was as if you could hear it a thousand miles yonder. She stood approximately three feet away from her sixteen year old brother. His face was fiercely red, crinkles in his forehead, eyebrows angled downward, and his upper body strength was profound- the way he swung each arm violently, though he happened to miss her by two inches. His fists were tightened and he clenched his teeth like an animal. His golden-brown hair quivering at every motion, it flipped here and there all over his face, brushing against his tear-stained expression. At last, he was successful at pushing her against the sharp edge of the wall, where she flung out her arm and fell on the coffee table. Her pale, scrawny face was buried in the white carpet. The girl, Taylor, cupped her hands over her eyes and screamed something indistinctive. Her face had gone from pale to a faded red, within seconds her left forearm had an immense bruise and she noticed her side was somewhat throbbing. Jon, the one who started this rage, took his clenched fist and jabbed the wall using his left arm, and swung his right arm at the lamp, knocking it over and completely damaging it.

This was beyond his usual inanity. Oftentimes, Jon was relatively calm. On occasion, if there was a problem as petty as it may seem, he would blow it our of proportion, such as a scenario like this one.

“Taylor!” he screamed, his hands brushing through his hair, looking around at the mess. He then realized he hurt her.

“Oh my God. Just- Just don’t ever talk to me again…I hate you.” With that he bolted into the next room.

Taylor managed to stand on her feet. She stumbled, her hands balled up together. Her side was still throbbing. She looked down and saw that the palm of her right hand was bleeding uncontrollably. It was stinging from when she slammed it against the shards of glass from the coffee table. She was twelve. She let out a low sob.

Before Jon could grab his bag and hoist it over his shoulder, two policemen were hanging onto him with fixed handcuffs, ready to take him away. The two policemen were no match to the teen.

The neighbors had called because they heard suspicious noises.

“As far as anyone could see, the boy has been…dealing with, you know, some issues” , said Mrs. Stowe to an inquiring neighbor four houses down…

The author's comments:
I just want constructive criticism. It doesn't matter if its positive or negative- I'll take it all into consideration. I hope to write a whole novel, starting with this piece.

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