My body stayed still, frozen. Not frozen to the touch but frozen to the spot. It was like the feeling, that had taken over my body, wasn't letting me do anything. It wouldn't let me think, move, breathe or do anything on my own.
I forced my body to move, my feet getting faster with every stride. My neck clicked, the burning sensation, slowly spreading to every nerve in it. Wincing, I wrapped the leather jacket 'round my body to stop my neck from freezing up. Dally had got me the jacket as an early birthday present. I payed for it but still, I was grateful he even thought of my birthday.
The cool November breeze was making everything spookier than it should have been. It was just a normal house, with no one in. On a pretty normal street, full of Socs that could have cut me up into sixtieth in a split second.
I stood on something, making a crunching sound and forcing me to look down in curiosity. I knew which house I was going past. When I looked to the left, I saw our house. My old house. Large, normal looking house but something wasn't so normal. Not then.
The material I stepped on was glass, but it wasn't from a glass bottle. Window. The front room's window had been smashed, and the remains of what they used to do it had been left too. A hammer was lying on the street. I breathed in deeply, searching for the house key that was always in my purse, but it wasn't there. I fiddled with it for a few minutes, then gave up, 'cause I knew I would never find it.
I wandered 'round the front of the house, remembering where my mum would have hidden a spare key. I looked in the flowers on the lawn, the rocks, holes in the walls. I opened the door and the lock clinked once I found the key, hidden in the hanging baskets.
"Jesus." I muttered. The house was a tip, not one part of the hallway wasn't damaged. The lounge had been turned upside down; glass scattered across the floor. I glanced to the ceiling and back to the floor, which was covered in anything; everything. The glass, protecting the paintings, had been smashed and the sofa shredded. Whatever they were looking for, they didn't find it. Not in there.
I moved to the kitchen. Stepping cautiously over the wooden planks that had been ripped off the floor.
"God." I muttered. The kitchen was..... shocking. I physically couldn't step in it. The utensils and pans, from the wall display, covered any part of the floor, that I may had been able to stand on. The rest covered in a red liquid. I felt it, slightly freaked out 'bout how cold it was. The liquid wasn't thick enough to be blood, and it was too light anyway. Deoxygenated blood would have been a rich, dark red, one that would have made you shudder. Instead, I looked at my reflection in it; the red colour creating weirdly shaped shadows all across my face. Looking up from the floor, I noticed our wine cabinets. The wood nailed together to form perfectly carved shelves. The nine, posh red wine bottles that used to be neatly stacked, at the perfect angle, were on the floor, smashed. They filled the kitchen with a light but distinct fragrance that was messing up my senses.
Upstairs, the house wasn't any different for the downstairs; mirrors laying smashed in millions of pieces. My room; I wasn't completely sure of what to think of it. The furniture I had left was now lying on the floor. White marks were created by them scraping the walls as they fell onto my carpet.
Mum's room was the worse. We hadn't taken any of her's or Dad' things so all their belongings were scattered along the floor. From the middle of the room, I picked up a pin from the carpet. The yellow flower was smoothly hand painted and in the middle was a diamond. It looked expensive. Extremely expensive. Mum never wore pin; never liked the look of them on her clothes. She didn't buy them and if she did get any, she wouldn't get them as presents. Dad never let mum go out to meet friends, so it must have been extremely lonely staying inside for so long. She rarely went out of the house, 'cause dad wanted to 'protect' her. More like control her. It wasn't her pin. I was sure.
After spinning it in my hand, I placed it in my jacket pocket. I searched Randy's room, then, but it was just like the rest. They didn't find what they were looking for. It wasn't there. It wasn't in that house. It hadn't been for a few weeks.
The attic, from the outside, looked like it hadn't been touched. I was way too short to pull down the ladder and they probably were too. It wasn't like I could have stood on chair, as we didn't keep any upstairs, but if it hadn't been touch there was no point in checking.
I spun 'round, this house could have been trashed weeks ago and I wouldn't have known. I walked down the stairs, looking at kitchen. The wine. It hadn't dried. Fresh. Fresh wine meant the bottle had been smashed only a few days before. I narrowed my eyes, looking at my watch.
"Shit." I shouted. Darry's going to kill me. 5. 5 o'clock. "Shit." I started to run, out the door, my heart beating stupidly fast. I scanned the street, looking for Socs that may have given me a hard time. Starting to run, I tried to remember directions to home.
*******
I opened the door, panting.
"Hey, Clums." Two-bit jumped up. "Where ya been?"
"Zola, ya know how I feel 'bout ya walking on the streets on ya own." Darry chipped in.
"Clums? Ya alright." Two-bit walked towards me.
"Something's wrong. Really wrong."