Red The Maximus Holder *Book 1*

Chapter 1

The dream always happened the same way. I jump her, wrestle her for dominance on the soft forest earth until I'm on top of her and then I threaten her with my pocket knife, just enough to break the soft skin at her neck to draw blood. Sometimes, our father would appear and throw me off of her before picking her up and walking away. But the majority of the time, the dream always ended with my knife at her throat. Nothing further than that. Until now. I couldn't stop myself as I dug the knife further into my sister's neck, drawing back and stabbing her viciously. Then I did it again and again, screaming out in frustrated anger as I felt her warm blood coat my hands and face, until I tasted it on my tongue. My dad never came to stop it this time and I can feel him cowering behind a tree. Too scared to stop me. Too late to save her. I was scared but happy and that made me even more scared. I was happy to kill her. To destroy something. I couldn't stop no matter how hard I tried to freeze my arm from swinging down repeatedly to stab her. My tears mingled with her blood and my screams drowned out her gurgled whimpers.

My eyes snapped open and I sat up right in the bed desperately trying to catch my breath. I scratched at my face to clear the blood from it, my hands shaking when I went to look down at them while I repeatedly blinked my eyes to clear away the dream. They were clean. Shaking but clean. I was in a cold sweat in my woolen bed, the winter chill in my room trying its hardest to grasp me in its claws but failing miserably due to the immense heat radiating from my body. Once my heart slowed to its natural rhythm, my desperate pants were replaced with sure breaths and my mind finally grasped the reality that I was in my room and soundly on my bed, I let out a heavy breath then let my usual anger for the world consume my shock from the dream. And I willingly let the remnants of it disappear to the far end of my mind.

I shook my head to clear it before I slowly roused myself from the bed to start my morning duties and I audibly sucked in a deep breath once my bare feet touched the cold wood to my bedroom floor. Like every morning I kept my eyes downcast, unwilling to look onto the other side of this room. Somewhat afraid to conjure up old memories and angry that I would remember at a single glance to that undisturbed bed that sat covered in dust and cobwebs. I stood and padded my way across the hall to the tiny bathroom making sure to avoid the old dingy mirror like always until absolutely necessary and I went about brushing my teeth with the homemade toothpaste. When it came to it, I finally looked into the mirror to redo my hair in a braid around the crown of my head, Pausing for a minute or two to note my brown hollowed out face with the forever creases pinched next to my lips, signaling my life's hardship. My brown eyes stared back at me, angry, like every morning and when I didn't want to see more I went back into my room and donned my faction work clothing.

With slow meaningful steps, my booted feet made heavy thumps against the dusty wooden floor of our home and I could hear my mom in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The house was quiet otherwise, and dimly lit by the thick wax candles that burned slowly as the morning sun broke the horizon. The condensation on the window panes indicated how cold it was outside and how warm it was inside.

When I entered the kitchen, my mom was hunched over the stove working her arms strongly over a pot of grits. A pan of fresh biscuits rested on the counter to cool off and I strided my way to her to take over the rest of the breakfast duties. My mother is a sickly woman. Ever since father and sister disappeared it seemed that her health was in a steady decline. It was up to me to take care of her and I did so without any complaints. I mean what else is there to do but be the dutiful daughter? She made her way to the dining table and heavily plopped her petite frame onto a chair with a sigh and we coexisted in silence as we always did. Not one of us speaking. Just existing. When the grits were done I fixed our plates and we ate.

It was only when I stood to depart that she finally spoke, her soft quiet voice finally breaking the stillness in the air.

"Dolly, don't forget to chop the vines when you come back, they're growing over the windows again."