Old friends and acquantancies of Ramona Taylor were killed by an unknown being who used the same method of death on his victims.
These murders have given her nightmares of woes and doom. These killings reoccur in the same style as before, after fiv...
"So Ray...I'm sure there's more you'd like to tell me. I mean if you and I..."
It kept re-occurring to me, the reason I was having this repentant excuse for a dinner. High school.
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It was a beautiful morning and I was entrenched in grasping a fresh breath of air from the zest of a new day while the sun rays kissed my skin and the wind played with my ears.
I was a naïve fourteen year old who had moved with her Father from Denmark to Los Angeles.
It was my first day at the Mary Land high school. The date; 18th of June 2001.
My father had his usual beverage of coffee and cream topping with omelette and a few slices of bread that morning, before he dropped me off at my new school.
On my way to school, I stared at my father. Mr Johnson Taylor. He was all set for work. He looked incredibly comfortable in his black suit which covered the snow-white sleeve he wore. A décor of red tie sat on his neck and hung down the fifth button on his shirt. Which gave his wall-street look a finishing touch and so did his red socks as they crept into black Italian shoes.
"Dad really? Are you serious?" I asked him in a tone not so high.
My father though fifty three, never gave up on his looks. He took a quick glance at the rear-view mirror and brushed his blonde hair for a while. I often wondered why he cared about the hair, when what anyone could easily see, were the white stripes that came in. The white monsters increased day by day as they tried to extinguish the gold-like strands on my father's head.
His wrinkles were not an exception. My father was a good looking man indeed, but the wrinkles refused to hide themselves.
To the world he was a wealthy man with no troubles, but being his daughter, I knew better.
After my father took care of his hair, he turned to me with a smile on his face. "Butter cup, I know you don't like the fact that you'll have to go to a new school, but this is what's best for the both of us. You know that right?"
My father had a thing for nick-naming me after sweet things; Cupcake, Butter cup, Sugar plum and all. But Butter cup didn't work out that morning for I had intentions of my own wrapped beneath my sleeves.
"Yeah Dad I know this is the best for you but it isn't really the best for me. I don't have a problem with moving, I just have a problem with trying to start a new life. I don't think I can do this Dad. I know I have to, but...All I'm trying to say is I'm not really ready for this and it wouldn't be fair if I'm forced to go to a new..."
"Ramona you're doing this. Like it or not this is our new home and you're just going to have to stay comfortable with this somehow. I don't care how you..."
"Please Dad! Mum...Mum would never drag me into something like this without my approval."
I shouldn't have brought my mother into the conversation but before I could sputter an apology my Father barked back at me.
