The Chronicles of Izaak Summers

Tiny Taps Of Red

ENJOY!

The room freezes over. Each person's heavy breathing is like a cloud of mist, slowly overtaking the frozen house. I don't look to any of the five other people experiencing such an experience, just try my hardest to make my mist cloud a little less noticeable.

Tension isn't the correct word. The correct word would be against any morals I have. But I can tell you this, the hatred radiating off of Izaak is too noticeable to ignore. Almost as heart-wrenching as a mother pleading for her son's acceptance, I inhale most of that hatred and place it in the biggest part of me there is.

It feels a day has passed when the commotion begins. Without a word, Izaak pushes past the most of us, rummages through the pantry, and begins throwing random foods in a plastic bag. "This is all you came for right?" With a deadly voice, Izaak throws his wallet at Talia's face and continues packing up the pantry.

"Izaak calm down." My father starts off with a comforting low tone. Izaak refuses to listen, ripping one bag full of canned corn and going on to the next. His back is tensed and ready to tear. I can't imagine how he looks like in the front. "Izaak, calm down!" My father brings out a yell loud enough to deafen half the population. At that point though, I don't flinch. I don't shake. No emotion comes to me at the unraveling scene but dead fear.

Izaak spins on his heels, dropping a Kroger's bag full of peanut butter and baked beans. Each and every vein in his neck is personified while his face bleeds red. His blue eyes have suddenly turned into a pool of darkness I don't recognize.

"Don't you tell me to do shit!" He shoves my father against the kitchen counter and points an accusing finger in his face. Though Izaak towers over my father with a few inches and his build is much more equipped for fighting, my dad doesn't take his words too well. In a swift motion, he has managed to pull Izaak's arms behind his back in a police man fashion and nail his face to the wall. Squirming like a child, Izaak shouts obscenities that echo against the corners of the house.

"Honey stop!" Mom screams.

"Izaak!" Talia squeals in fright. Oh. So she remembers his name?

"You don't talk to me like that in my house, son. No matter what. You understand?" My dad says in a strict whisper and applies more force to Izaak's restricted arms. "I said, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," When my father releases grip, Izaak massages his wrist and curses under his breath. For a split second, he looks to me with a chilling expression as if this were all my doing. Then, he goes back to packing food for Talia.

"Now, we will handle this like adults whether you like it or not. Drop the bags Izaak." Izaak doesn't adhere my father's warnings. Looking crazed, this goes on for quite a while. We all watch in silence as he mutters to himself while throwing condiments and canned goods into bags. Seeing as to no one is willing to do anything, I take it upon myself.

Swallowing tangible fear, I slowly walk over to the pantry and lay a hand on his back. As if I'm not even there, he throws an expired can of peaches behind his back resulting in an awful mess. My dad steps forward, but I hold a hand out to him and give warning in my eyes. He backs off.

"Izaak," I whisper. I've never seen him like this. So angry to a point where he is mental. "Izaak stop it." He shrugs off my hand. "Izaak you're scaring us. Please, please stop. We don't even have to talk about it. We can go back to being alone. Me and you. Or you can just go alone. Please, just stop this." The plead in my voice sickens me.

A stutter in his hands and a hesitant nod of the head makes me believe he hears me and is actually listening. "We will. You and I, just the two of us. We can get away from all of this. But---but you need to do this first."