Thalia:

September, 2011

For the last six months, I had dreams, of myself dying in morbid and disturbing ways but always in a scary winter plateau but this time it was unbearable. This dream I was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by an endless white blanket of snow and an unequally white sky. A loud, shrill howl echoed, three miles from my right and three huge, grey shaggy wolves with glowing orbs of amber eyes, growled at me. I snapped my head to them and screamed.

In a blink, they lunged at me at lightning speed as I bolted and ran but I was too late. One pinned me down with his large paw and the rest surrounded me. For a mere second, I was blinded by the howl of the wind, the bitter chill of the cold and the snow that showered me in flakes. Frosty air exhaled from my cold, brown lips as I pleaded with them.

I stared at his cold, fiery eyes and pleaded, 'Please, don't kill me.'

They circled around me and bared their yellowed canines at me then they lunged. White hot pain reached my ankle as it pierced its teeth into it as I screamed. They tore into my flesh and pulled at it. One yanked my arm as the bones popped. I was being eaten alive as crimson seeped into the powdery snow as my screams echoed through the endless void as snow showered on me. Their teeth dug into my flesh as tears streamed down my cheeks.

***

I sat upright, breathing ragged and fast as I darted my eyes towards my window. My heart hammered my chest as I was drenched in sweat. I trembled and scrambled out of the bed. I padded towards my window, my room still dark as I stared at the lightening sky. My alarm clock blinking at dawn.

5:30am.

I sighed heavily. Luckily, this was the latest I have ever woken up from a nightmare. I debated whether to document it in my dream journal by my nightstand or sketch. The pounding in my heart started to subside. I approached my bulletin board at the left pale blue wall. It was decorated by my sketches and drawings from over the years. Still life and portraits were my niche but ever since my nightmares they had started to fade only to be replaced by morbid sketches and death doodles like skulls and grave stones. I shuddered, grabbed my art supplies from my drawer and drew as I squeezed my eyes shut only to be transported.

The wolves.

The teeth.

They tore into my flesh.

The blood.

My screams.

My eyes flickered open as I moved back and stared wide-eyed my drawing.

It was a girl, about thirteen, being eaten alive by gigantic wolves. Without realizing I took a crimson Copic marker to colour the blood. The open wounds, the gashes and the blood sank into the snow, one teeth locked at her wrist, another at the other and one that tore onto her stomach. Involuntary, my hands went to my stomach. A tear streamed down my face and stained the A4 landscape paper and smudged my charcoal and shading pencils.

I wept.

I used my elbow and my fingers to wipe my tears and I did not care if my hands were smudged.

I plopped on my bed, turned on my back and tried to take away the image but it kept coming back. I rolled again and stared at the wooden ceiling and sleep left me. I patiently waited for the streaks of orange and slowly for the sun's early rays.

Before I knew it .It was six am, I rolled off my bed, swung my feet to the side of the bed and slipped on my slippers. I yawned and stretched as I went to my bathroom. I turned on the shower as steam spewed from the glass as I stripped off my clothes. Fog relished the walls as I tried not to cry again as the hot water burned my flesh like a chicken getting boiled.

Boiled alive.

I brushed my teeth as my eyes trailed to my medicine cabinet and first aid kit.

I climbed down the wooden stairs. I wore a navy hoodie, black leggings and my backpack that didn't help the fact I was scrawny and tall. My clothes barely fit me so it looked baggy on me .I stared at the clock.

It was six thirty in the morning.

My father sat on the table while he read the morning table as I darted my head, expecting someone.

"Your mother is still at her shift." My father, a rather large man with jet black hair and built like a yeti. You could say my father was attractive for a man in his forties. He was oddly muscular, tall and intimidating but not me.

"Oh." I gasped, trying not to hide my disappointment. I ran my hands through my short hair. I hated how my close-cropped, curly hair made me look like a boy but it wasn't my fault.

I was sick.

I've recovered.

I'm so skinny.

I headed to the door and my father placed the paper door and looked at me with his forehead creased.

"Isn't it too early to head to school? What about food?" He asked. My father asked as if he cared. I licked my dried lips.

"I'm not hungry, dad." I spat.

He sighed, defeated. Suddenly, a black woman stumbled down the steps dressed in a tight short dress and grinned at my dad as I stared agape at her. I clenched my hands into fists as anger swelled within me and tears threatened to pour from my eyes.

"Dad!" I croaked, "You'd promised. You'd changed. You're married." I stomped my foot.

"Thalia. "He screamed, teeth gritted as he spranged up to his feet and before he could speak, I flung open the door and ran down the sidewalk as I couldn't contain myself to barf. I was hungry and was angry. The streets blurred as I looked for the nearest bus stop.

He promised he'd stop.

He doesn't love my mom.

He cheated.Again.

I stopped at the nearest bus stop and waited for the school bus. I had to wait an hour at least. My stomach rumbled as I stared at my scruffy sneakers. I placed my arms on my stomach as I put in mind to get something from the vending machine or ask my friend Alex for food.

An hour had passed, and the bus arrived. I sighed and entered the clean, shiny bus as judging eyes pierced my back and fifth graders whispered as I went to the back and smiled at my friend Andrew. I sat beside him, and my lips curled. Andrew was dark skinned like me and he had curly black hair and dressed on a bow tie and checkered pants that he got bullied for it but when you heard his voice he sang like an angel, but he was shorter than me and was he talked a lot. He was one of the choir boys from the Catholic Church I was in.

He waved eagerly and shouted, "How you doin'?"

Some seventh graders snickered, and fifth graders glared at him.He was strange in their eyes but I personally found him an eccentric. Kids and adults stared at me alike. Of course, they did. I wore sweaters and leggings and looked like I hated myself on a daily basis. I did actually.

"Are you okay?" He asked, bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm fine but do you have any snacks on you? "I asked.

He nodded grimly and glanced over my shoulder with his lips pressed. Then he whispered his voice low," You didn't eat again, didn't you?"

I shook my head," My dad was busy today and you'd not believe the story I'll tell you at school."

I whispered back. He bit his lip and tossed me an apple and some fish crackers as I beamed. "Thank you."

"Is okay but you owe me some drawings. "He smiled smugly and fixed his bow as I gagged and laughed. It was a twenty-minute drive to my local middle school.

I tapped my stomach as we entered the courtyard as kids from nine to fourteen. Everyone was chat with one another, played around or waved their parents. Everyone in my grade wore feathers in their hair or held their Blackberry phones in their hands. And into the school's hallway lined with posters and bulletin boards. We headed for assembly in the auditorium, then homeroom. First period was art class. We walked past and honestly, I'm pretty sure eighth graders like me had normal lives but I was terribly wrong. I stopped dead in my tracks as we approached the art lab.

"Are you alright?"Alex asked, as I bit my bottom lip. I turned to him, gritted my teeth and blurted, "I forgot to do my assignment."

He gasped, his eyes widened and he dramatically clamped his mouth, "But you never forget to do your assignment."

 He shook his head and we approached the class.

It was a huge white room lined art from over the years. There were blue tables with four chairs around it. On the desk was the art teacher. She was a tall, thin lady with bushy black hair braided down her back and wore long dresses that I thought belonged in the late eighteen hundreds. Everyone sat in their various groups or sat by their friends but remained quiet but the teacher smiled widely at me expectantly.

I face palmed as she glanced at my hoodie.

"Thalia, "She warned as everyone turned to look at me," no hoodies are allowed, and you should know that by now. "I gulped and removed it and exposed my long-sleeved blue shirt as she pursed her pink lips and narrowed her eyes with suspension.

A familiar girl lumbered towards me dressed in a white dress with flower patterns over a denim jacket. She grinned as Andrew simply shrugged.

She snapped her head, grinned creepily at me and raised her hands as everyone placed their art assignments on her desk.

"Um, Miss Abigail. Thalia hasn't submitted her homework. "She grinned wider as I balled my fist.

"Ah, thank you. Andrea for reminding me." She mused. I bowed my head in shame and rose but not forgetting to glare at her.

Andrea Sanchez was my friend, but we had an on and off relationship, so I preferred the term frenemies. She tried to get on top of me and she seemed to envy that I could draw better than her. I was older than her by a year. Sofia was the daughter of a business mogul that built his business from Mexico but expanded to Toronto in Canada. I met her in third grade just like Alex, but I met him at church instead.

Her father was busy all the same, so she was distant, but her mother divorced her dad because of his obsession with his work and money but she was a brat and she loved to brag about her new iPhone 3G. She had warm olive skin, short with dark brown eyes and a mane of wavy brown hair.

I looked at my teacher, my hands and I murmured, "I forgot to do my assignment. I'm sorry."

Her face fell as she crossed her arms on her chest, "Thalia, I'm worried about you, is there something wrong?" She asked as I shook my head. My shoulders sagged as I retreated to my desk with a frown. Everyone snickered, gasped and whispered amongst themselves.

"Thalia, forgot to do her homework that is so unlike her."

Alex whispered to my ear. "You gotta tell her. Sooner or later. Your health is at stake."He grabbed my wrist as I yanked it.

"Report your dad, ok." He muttered as I shook my head.

Class ended before I knew it and I really thought the teacher would call be after class, but I was wrong but every time she saw me, she stared at me with narrowed eyes with concern or pity. I hated pity. My hands were still bruised from when my father broke my hand when I intervened the fight he had with mom.

I wrapped my hands with bandages and told the nurse I tripped and fell on the sidewalk. It was a lie and I started using concealer too to hide my bruises.

I enjoyed my lunch even though people looked at me like I had grown three heads as I devoured it because I hadn't eaten while I heard weird sounds from my dad's bedroom. I know. Super gross but it was not my mom.