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Creative Writing : Chapter : A Short Story

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“You didn’t look very comfortable over there,” he stated as he put his coat on.
“Didn't look very comfortable over there,” I mimicked.
His eyebrows raised, “Really?”
“Yes,” I glared at him as I walked to the door.
“Hurry up.”
I heard him walk up to where I stood, “Hungry? There’s a cafe nearby.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
One problem…
My left fist curled tightly inside my pocket.
He’s extremely popular with the ladies.
“Rin.” he looked at me.
“Huh?”
“Why are they all staring at us?” he looked around.
“Oh, I didn’t notice.”
My grip on my orange juice tightened, “It’s annoying!” I hissed softly between clenched teeth.
“Not my problem.”
Sighing angrily, I smiled at him.
“It’s kind of is.”
“Why?” he looked at me confused.
“I may do something and …show more content…

Next morning I was walking down the sidewalk when I felt a hand land on my shoulder.
Jerking away, I saw the group behind me.
Oh no.
“You’re ginger aren’t you?” a woman with blond hair and blue eyes asked.
“Your father has been very worried about you.” I turned tail and ran.
“Get her.”
Shit-rin’s at work. I shouldn't've left his place.
I slipped on ice and landed on my stomach.
“Ouch.” I winced.
But nothing compared to what father did.
“Got you.” I looked up to see a burly man and my eyes narrowed, slowly pulling out a knife from my pocket.
“Give it up kid, you can’t beat us all-” I lunged forward, knife stabbing him in the stomach.
Their eyes widened.
“Brat!” I barely dodged the first one as I slashed at another.
“Get that knife away from her! She can’t be that good!” the woman commanded.
So you’re their boss, huh?
I ducked a punch and knocked a man’s feet out from under him, sending another down.
I have to get away and go back.
“Get her!” she bellowed and they lunged at me.
I spun as fast as my body would allow, screams rang out as faces, chest, and throat were sliced.
“Fine! You useless pons!” she ran at me, but I dashed straight past her.
Run!
“Get back here!”
Thank the cold weather for no one here to see what I'd done.
My grip tightened as my hand shook slightly.
It wasn’t my fault I could do it. My father made me this way!
Footsteps could no longer be heard and I slowed down before turning around.
No one in sight.
Thank god!
Washing my

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