Chapter one: Questions

It was a long stormy night, the wind howling like a coyote. The rain pounding heavily on the roof like a hammer pounding on a nail. I climbed out of bed, not able to sleep.
“Rain! Rain! Go away! And come back another day!” I yelled at my window that had tons of sparkling drops of water all over it.
“Ugh! Your never going to go away are you?” I asked the rain.
To make the matters worst, the rain seemed to hit the window with a large splat! directly in front of my annoyed eyes.
I glared at the drops of sparkling water. “Go away!” I screamed at it.
I then covered my mouth.
Darn it! I might have woke my dad and my little brother!
I opened my door and walked down the long narrow hallway on the hard wood floor. My feet slapped noisily down the never ending hall way.
I opened my brothers door peering in. My little brother was zonked out on his bed not even in the covers. With his light brown hair all in his beautiful turquoise eyes.
I always say that his eyes were just like moms, and that he should be happy that he got at least one genetic thing from his mom. Unlike me who was completely out of the ordinary looking.
I am albino, which means I am totally white besides my eyes. I’m usually known as a freak show in school. I have white hair and skin. But my eyes, are a bright pink.
Even though I am an albino, I am actually very pretty. Not a super model, but I am defiantly not ugly. I have long straight hair and bangs that are zig-zagged. I have a tall straight figure and my eyes are kind-of pretty.
The only thing that bothers me about my complexion, is that my own dad sometimes freaks out about the way I look.
Sometimes when ever I sneak up on him and scare him he turns around a stares in horror at me.
I feel like he is rejecting me. Like I’m some kind out monster out of a horror movie. Like a freak.
And for the past year, my dad has been rejecting me and my little brother, jack Peters.
He has been depressed ever since my mom has died last year. All he ever does is lay in his bed and stares at the ceiling .
“His just in a faze.” I keep telling my worried brother. “It will go away” I keep promising him. Though I don’t think it will.
It’s like he just gave up on life. Like he wants to die. Sometimes I think that someday very soon, I will come home to see my dad laying dead in his bed.
I rush home everyday to make sure he hasn’t given up. Someday though, I think he will. I have horrible thoughts that torch-er me all through out the long day that someday my little brother will blame me for not doing anything to help dad. That he will just give up to. I am petrified with everyday that passes. What will happen to dad? What will happen to this family? Will we all just give up?









So many questions swarmed in my head like bees swarming honey.
I turned to a picture that was set on my simple but still nice looking white dresser. The photograph was very old. It was yellowed with age and was in black and white. In it was a beautiful young woman. She had long dark brown hair and turquoise eyes. . . my mom.
I stared long and hard at her. I sighed. My heart caught in my throat and tears started welling my eyes like they sprung a leek. I missed her. My mom. She died when I was young and when Jack was only a baby.
It was a chilly fall afternoon on the highway my mom was taking to go to the mall. It was the day before my birthday. November first. My mom was distracted thinking about what I would like for my birthday, when all of a sudden it happened. . . a truck cam barreling down the wrong side of the rode. . . it hit. . . mom.
My mom died from a truck guy that had know reason to be driving on the wrong side of the rode. He just felt like it.
I couldn't control my anger any more I screamed long and hard getting all my anger out. I had those moments a lot.
I loved my mom, and so did Jack. Especial dad. After the incident, dad got depressed. Started to spend the rest of his life buried in dark and dangerous depression. I begged him to get up and do something. . . he. . . just. . . laid. . . there.
As dad got more and more depressed, Jack got reckless. He wanted his mom. . . I kept explain to him that mom was never coming back but she was some place safe. That usually brought tears to my eyes telling him that. Which brought a huge wave a confusion to him. He was only four. How was I suppose to tell him his mommy had died in a car crash and would never come back?
We were all suffering. Each and every one of us. We were all dying inside.
But, one thing, one thing in this whole entire world could only make my dad a light enlightened. And that was. . . my willow tree.

When I was young, and Jack wasn’t born yet, my mom would take me to this huge drooping willow in this billowing forest that sprung to life even more when I came there.

My mom named it after me Kai, which meant willow tree. She said it was a special tree. “It was almost like a magic tree” she said in wonder.

She told the story of how she and dad met. It was at this willow tree. It was there hideout, and now it was hers and Jacks. But mostly hers. She loved it. It was almost like the tree was part of her family. It was the only place she felt safe now. The only place she felt like the presences of her mom was there.

It was her favorite place . . . her hideout. . . her secret world . . .