Spencer: Homework for my creative writing class.
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:16pm
Thread Topic: Spencer: Homework for my creative writing class.
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I still remember the first time I met my big brother. He decided to come home to Sicily over the summer. I was thirteen at the time and was living with our mom and dad after grandma had passed away. I was playing in my room as always when someone knocked at the door. I remember that I thought it was one of mom and dad’s friends. This had been going on constantly for the four years I had lived with them. I always thought it was strange how mom called them their friends, because every time one of them was over, all I could hear was them yelling and arguing with each other. When I was called downstairs I didn’t know what to expect. I stepped down off the last step to be confronted by a tall slim young man with a smile. I knew who he was in an instant and I raced to give him a hug. Spencer stood nearly 6’3†and was as thin as a twig. His hair matted down to his eyes and tied in a ponytail down to his shoulders in the back. He had left home when he turned 18 and went to live in the Americas. I had only known him for a short time after grandma passed and before he left.
“What brings you home?†mom had asked him as I stepped back and she took her hugs.
“Holiday.†He replied as he held her close.
“Well, how long will you be staying with us sweetie?â€
“A week mom, I’ll have to go back soon.â€
The next few days were wonderful. Every night was full of stories about our lives and about what all we had done. He painted a wonderful image in our heads of the massive cities and endless fields of America. He told us of the mixes of people and the countless cultures he had seen. I was intrigued. I told him that I would like to see the Americas someday and he responded with a, “maybe someday.â€
On the fifth day one of the family “friends†arrived. I had seen the man before. His name was Mr. Antonio and he a huge man; his barrel chest almost as attention grabbing as his bowling ball head. Only adults were allowed to be a part of the conversations that went on downstairs. Even so, Spencer went with them apprehensively. During the entire standoff, the one voice I never heard was his. When Mr. Antonio left and I was finally allowed to come back downstairs mom and dad were acting like their usual selves, but Spencer was sitting in absolute silence. That night we didn’t tell stories.
By the sixth day Spencer was regaining a bit of his former self back. He was smiling a lot more and talking again. It was good to have him back again. But every time I tried to ask him what they had discussed the night before he told me not to worry about it. Later in the evening, when the sun was getting ready to set, Mr. Antonio showed up at the door again. They never showed up that late in the evening. I was once again sent to my room whilst everyone else stayed down stairs. I was playing with my dolls when I heard a sound I had never heard from downstairs before. Mom was crying. Once I recognized this I strained as hard as I could to hear what was being said. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t understand them.
Mr. Antonio was yelling and Dad was yelling back. I pressed my ear against the floor to try and make out a single word they were yelling but nothing. I had tried so hard that I didn’t even notice that Spencer had come back upstairs. He grabbed me by my shoulder and told me to stay quiet. He led me downstairs and around the room where the others were talking. As we approached the back door I saw Mr. Antonio walking over towards Mom. I turned just in time to see him slap her across the face, not ten feet away from us. I don’t remember what was going through my mind, but I knew I had to defend my mother. I ran into the room and positioned myself between him and her. Mr. Antonio had fire in his eyes as he reached his hand back to hit me too. With my arms out to my sides to protect my Mom I closed my eyes and prepared for the strike.
That’s when I heard it, Spencer yelled as he ran into the room and tackled Mr. Antonio. The massive man fell over in slow motion; crashing through a glass table and coming to the ground with a heavy thud. At first I thought it was just a tackle, but then as Spencer stood up, I saw the red. The hilt of a knife protruded from Mr. Antonio’s stomach and Spencer’s hand was red with blood. Spencer stared with shock and fear as Mr. Antonio gasped his final few breaths, staring at the ceiling, before he finally became still.
I don’t remember everything that happened next. Mom and Dad were packing all of our clothes and giving Spencer instructions. I head little bits and pieces like, “They’re coming for you two now†and “Get as far away from here as possible.†Spencer and I were leaving the house before the sun came up. We spent the entire next day trying to get out of Italy. When we were over the border, Spencer found a place for us to spend the night. I woke up in the middle of the night to find him sitting in a chair. His head was hanging down and he was holding a new knife. I watched in horrified silence as he drew the blade across his shoulder. A tear drop fell from his eye and landed on his leg. I found that I myself was crying a little bit as well.
It has been four years since this happened. Spencer is now 26 and I am 17. We live in a small town in eastern America. The stories he told us were true, the country was amazing. In the four years since that night we left, his tally has gone from one to six. More and more of Mom and Dad’s “friends†have come to try and get revenge on Spencer. I still ask him what was said that night all those years ago. His answer has remained faithfully the same, “Don’t worry about it.†-
By; James Richason
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THAT WAS VERY VERY VERY GOOD! I loved it! It was so interesting Bork!
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