Description
Wesley Peterson trudged through the front door of his new 'home'. However, home had never been a place for him. His home was always in people. And his father ripped his home right under his feet, letting him fall onto the front door welcome mat of Quinberry Lane. ^*^*^*^ He stood between the two fading yellow lines, back towards the house. Brown eyes vacant, as if reminiscing a disturbing memory, he looked ahead of him. Jordan's hands pounded against the glass window of the house the boy was leaving behind. He was screaming but nothing could be heard. In vain, he continued the futile process of creating as much racket as possible. The boy, however, still stood in between the yellow lines, statuesque. The oncoming beams of headlights sliced through the thick fog and the suffocating darkness. It always ended that way, always. A never ending loop; always ending in death.
Introduction
