Charlottes Story

I ran swiftly down the soft tan carpet of our small robins egg blue cottage, completely bare foot. My aching feet carried me so fast, it was more like flying. My breathing pitched high and low, as if I were playing a worn-out instrument, one with its solid base completely banged in with craters, one too many times dropped. I silently prayed that I wasn't too late. I silently thanked Mina for giving me a heads up about Yin. I silently stepped carefully around the chipped wooden door that opened to my shabby light pink room.
This silence was deafening.
Yin, it appeared wasn't in my room, searching for the small cold dagger, which belonged to my father, Ton Lee. I had to confiscate it from his strained hands, last week, when he was in a bad mood. Yin had three moods. Drudgingly corporative, depressed but still restraint, and the last one, the one I feared most for my older brothers cruel life,
suicidal.
Me, still in my unusual angst, threw pillows and books on the floor, hoping that I would find the dagger, that I had hid so well, even I had forgotten where the treacherous weapon lay. Suddenly I heard the worst sound of all, my brothers shrieking scream, which climbed higher and higher with every beat of my thumping heart. I stood frozen feather pillow in one grasping hand, torn book in the other, and waited. I waited for the unbearable nightmare to end. I waited for the torturous screaming to cease. I kept waiting, and waiting and waiting.
Then reality sunk in.
It sunk in my bones, it sunk in my fingernails, and as I swished my dried out tongue between my cracked and aching lips, I could taste dust.
I flew out of my room, and slammed face first into my brothers door. My fists banged on the peeling white paint that sealed me from entering. The screaming stopped this time, but I had a chilling feeling that it wasn't because of my intrusion. Suddenly I heard a muffled sound, of which something soft and heavy were to fall to the floor. I tried taking deep breaths, but they came out as shallow as tide pools. I leaned my forehead against the wall, right under a framed picture of a cherry blossom tree that grew in my grandmothers garden. Suddenly I felt something pooling around my foot, and slowly cranked my neck so I could lower my eyes down, and identify this strange occurrence. The liquid was thick, slopping around my big toe, with its cracked and swollen nail.
But most importantly the substance was deep dark red.

Then everything went black.