Luis Salgado The Demon Girl With Green Eyes, Light Skin, And My Blood Temper tantrums, screaming,

crying, yelling, and being spoiled, this all consisted inside a little girl whom had green eyes, light skin, and my blood. She had green eyes just like leaves before they fell in November, light skin you could confuse it for an angels, and my blood the blood we both shared that sadly connected us. Her aura from day one was horrendous, but faint. Her looks where a false accusation all in one. She could look as innocent as a rose, but inside this girl was demented killer waiting for its time to break lose and raise havoc on us. Who knew those green eyes that looked almost pure could turn to red as blood. She is fifteen now and everything inside her has grown: the anger, sadness, evil, and the atrocious aura that surrounds her has obscured out of control along with her temper. Those bright green eyes she had as a baby have now turn to a dull green, nothing but sadness, and emptiness, as if no soul were to ever inhabit this girl. She had two older brothers living their own lives with their own happy families; no one could blame them for leaving. One older sister whom she hated the most, but ironically the reason she hated her big sister the most might have been because they looked so much alike. They had the same color skin and those same color eyes but the life was still shining as bright as the sun and as deep as the sea in her sisters eyes. Then there I was the other older brother, whom had the world in front of him with endless possibilities, and sadly maybe the only one who could fulfill the family name to greatness, and she despised me all the more because of this. And she had a little sister who was trying hard to figure out who she was or where she belonged, she had a tendency to cling and attach to people and she chose the wrong person, but this aggravated the demon girl and shunned the little sister. She was one of those girls that wore nothing but the infamous Jordan shoes. She was the stereotypical basketball-short-wearing-ghetto-fabulous-girls with the vocabulary the size of an ant that mainly consisted of cuss words. The negligent rap listing girls that out of nowhere they busted out with a flow. Her future was as bright as her soul, and you could predict her future without knowing her, either she would end up pregnant young and prove the stereotype of a young Hispanic girl, or idiotically run away from home. Did she care? No. She cared as much as we got along, which was not at all. How did I end up with her as a sister I wondered as if there

were a curse mark placed upon my heart and how the tears fall, but they're so easy to wipe off onto my sleeve? Now how do I erase the stain from my heart? My tears run endlessly and my wounds ache, but I see hope on the horizon, for my name, and the rest of my family. The hope that we can soon ignite within ourselves the power to forget this monster, and cast her away as in a message in a bottle. The image I had of her as my sister, like moth wings briefly fluttered across my face and disappeared in an instant. Yet she is still here like a burden we all must carry. She could care less about what I said. I was her complete opposite in every way. She would easily incorporate my words into a whisper of a breath as in a mere shadow of myself, but at the same time I was her biggest threat. One day while I was walking home at night the moon was a particular shade of orange, and what made it an astonishing view was that it was a full moon and looked so elephantine and dazzling. I thought where ever you are in the world; the moon is never bigger than your thumb. Feeling all sentimental inside I brought my thumb up towards the moon and looked up at the cold night sky thinking how huge the world must be. I just stood there by the aged stop sign and absorbed the world. As I saw the fallen leaves dance in a whirlwind that had escaped a tiny hole from heaven, the trees swayed back and forth and side to side as if trying to free themselves from the roots that confined them. Then I looked up at the sky again and the clouds with a magnificent, unique shape to every single one thinking maybe someone else could be looking at the same cloud and maybe was thinking the same thing I was. I thought how full the world must be, but how a person could be so alone, then drifted back to my sister and my radiant eyes from the shimmering moon light turned back to sorrow as I continued back to my path to my humble abode still thinking that I want to go far away and see a beautiful night sky filled with shooting stars, and hope. Once I got home I struggled to put my key in for some odd reason and the door knob had a icy cool touch to it and sounded rusty with years of being mistreated as I turned it. As I was closing the door I saw her standing there, motionless, just like the ghost she was with green eyes, light skin, and my blood. All I could see was her faultless green eyes as she hid in the shadows of the dark, then she looked at my direction, but I paid her no attention. I turned to close the door completely as the old wooden creaked, and I saw a paper hanging on the door with writing on it. This writing was different from any I have ever seen in some ominous ink, but this was not ink it

was blood and the message said BYE BROTHER SAY HI TO.. as the blood was dripping from the paper making a puddle at my feet that drowned me in agony. The blood started to fade I could not make out the rest. Then a cynical giggle behind me that could make lost souls shiver. My eyes widen, my heart shrank, and my insides turned to ash. My first instinct was to run, but I could not obtain the strength to send a message to my legs to budge, but with pure will I moved with the slightest reflexes, and began to run until the puddle of the sadly forgotten cause me to slip as I opened the door behind me. As I was falling it felt like an eternity, then I started to remember the oddest, nicest thing about, a girl from school. Remembering how much I loved the way she wore my wristband, how much I loved her caramel like skin glistening through the broken window blinds in our school, how her checks plumped up when she smiled at me, and as if her smile caught the light. I loved the way she gazed with those wondrous colossal eyes that with one glance could make you feel all buttery inside. I loved even the small things she did like the way she crossed her legs while reading the dusty, obsolete chalk board, or the way she would put her head down when she wrote. And especially that little swirly feeling deep down in my gut as if butterflies were about to burst out any second, or how my heart skipped with a unique beat that would go hand in hand with the rhythm of her angel-like voice at the sight of her. Her words taught me something, and her actions showed me the world. This feeling again, like the warmth of the sun slowly moving over my heart, but it is her warmth. Sometimes I wish, I wish I had 5 different lives, and been born to 5 different families in 5 different towns, and grown up to have 5 different careers, and in every one of those lives, I would have fallen in love with the same person, 5 different times. It is like I felt peace in her presence. Now all this seemed like a scattered dream that is like a far-off memory and a far-off memory that is like a scattered dream. Her being with me would be like gathering together the wind and scattering the rain. Why was I so fixated on her? Maybe even infatuated by her as if her words carried me like a warm breeze. Her eyes could tell me a whole

story while her outspoken words meant nothing to me. She rushed past me with quickness and, she left me standing, looking straight ahead, lost. As I faded back to reality I realized it is not the good bye that hurts, but the flashback that follows it. My once pounding heart turned to a frantic beat could not help but shed a tear, not for what I knew was about to happen but because I still fail to see how a person of her caliper can be so cruel and cold-hearted in this world.

As I hit the bitter pavement I realize I am the one who is lonely in this cold world. I am the one who must suffer the agonizing pain of being separated from everyone else. I realize I am the one who sticks out of my family: Tall, clumsy, brains, and all. I am the one who must suffer from the curse mark of the middle child the one who gets blamed for the demon girls mistakes. I realize that the girl from school does not listen to me because she just sees straight through me. I am the sucker who is waiting to fall in love but will never even trip over it. I thought my love was bulletproof but then again she is the one who shot me. The love I once had has drifted away, away from my grasp. I will never fit in with my family nor do I want to. It is like trying to sleep in a city that never wakes up. Maybe if they could make sense of my words maybe then they would understand me .We are all so different and I do not belong with these misfits. I have lost a lot of people but havent really gained; maybe this is my curse mark the curse mark of being alone and insignificant. They say to be great is to be misunderstood, so that is my road, the road of the misunderstood. Two roads diverge in a wood, and I, I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. Maybe this road is the right road to finally be secured from the negligent people around me, the criticism, and negativity. I will surpass my expectations, and surpass my family name that confines me to these insiders while I remain out, even if it means being rouge. Everyone there is a unit, leaving me to be the outside link. But those who underestimate me shall pay the price. Then all of a sudden with a slash and a dash, a knife in the

back, a grip on the grass and it is cold. I could not help but thank the demon girl in my mind. Thanking her for freeing me like a bird in a cage. To soar away from the once rigorous confinement that is my family name. Who knows maybe now I can go far away and see a beautiful night sky filled with shooting stars or maybe soon I can forget these memories and the curse mark of the demon girl with green eyes, light skin, and my blood with the shooting star of hope. If history repeats its self and moves in a circular path then believing that whatever force turning it is perfect is all we can do as we move ahead, pushed along by forces beyond our control waiting for the blade to be swung, and so falls the sword of fate. Things in this world stay the same and repeat themselves over and over again, the world changes and turns. Each time the sun touches the moon it takes a new shape, the one thing that does not change is my powerlessness and this realization cuts my heart like cold steel, but then as I used my last glance I looked up and saw the moon divorce the sky, as the night faded away.