I was born in a peaceful home. My mother was compassionate and kind, while my father was a tougher man, the kind who could easily get mad over anything but had great restraint over his emotions. I remember one day when I brought home a wounded dog, and my father got mad. He was worried that I would get sick again.
Ever since I was a child, I had cancer, but the doctors didn't know how to treat me. They said there was no medical means to do so. I remember lying in bed all night long, drenched in sweat as the pain spread throughout my body. My mother would walk into the bedroom, her hands holding a strange kind of pendant. She would use the sharp end of the pendant to prick her index finger, letting a trail of blood drip from her hand. She would then place her finger in my mouth, and somehow, the taste of her blood eased the pain. I always felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
Some days, my dad would sit next to me as I slowly drank my mom's blood from her index finger.
"My heart breaks every time he's like this," Dad would say, placing his hand on Mom's shoulder.
"Do you regret it?" Mom replied, laying her head on Dad's chest.
"Regret what?" Dad asked.
"Regret ever falling in love with another kind," she said, smiling.
"No, I don't regret ever falling in love with you. We were both weird in our youthful days, and defiant. We were both enemies, too, but as they say, love is mysterious. Every day with you is paradise. I love my family. I don't want perfection; all I want is us three together," Dad replied, holding onto Mom in his embrace. That was twelve years ago. Mom died when I was six, leaving me with Dad. I remember them placing her coffin into the ground. I still remember the rain pouring against my head and the feverish feeling of loneliness.
Why is it still so vivid to this day? Before she died, she left me the pendant. I could feel her presence in it; a subtle feeling always emanates from the strange pendant, as if a part of her soul is in it. I wore it around my neck all the time. Whenever the strange cancer kicked in, I would hold onto it, and for some reason, which I do not understand, the pain would vanish.
Enough about my past. I'm 17 now, a well-bred nerd who doesn't socialize. I'm five foot six,slim but not too slim, with dark hair and blue eyes, like the blue sea, as Mom would put it. I always thought it was childish the way she referred to my eyes. I was good-looking, but with my glasses on, you couldn't tell. Cold and distant, I don't really fit anywhere, but that's just the way I am. I've got zero friends, I was poor at athletics, and average at my studies. Well, except for chemistry and English—I'm somewhat better than average in those two. I also love poetry,but I suck at it. Really, nothing special, except for the fact that I was strong-willed and hot-tempered at times.
You see, I have two sides to my character. When I'm with people, I'm dead shy and repressed, but when it comes to things I care about, I just can't back down. Father always told me to keep a cool head when I was angry. "Don't let your anger get the better of you," he would say. But really, I don't have anything to be angry about. After Mom died, it was like the sun sheathed its warmth from me. I was constantly depressed, partly because of her absence, and also because of the feeling of being alone. Dad would go to work, and when he got back, he would hug me and then go to bed. I could tell he was still mourning her.
Monday mornings are the worst for me. I trudged all the way to school. Nothing interesting about a Monday morning, but I was always late. I had to feed the white cat that always waited for me by the tree. I arrived at the classroom, but was halted.
"Jaze, Jaze, Jaze, always late as usual. I really don't get it. Your house is just a few blocks from here, and I don't get why you're late," Mr. Stephen, with his usual cocky attitude, voiced out. Jack, one of the jocks, smiled, always glad I was scolded. Mean bastard!
"I'm sorry, Mr. Patrick, I..." I was cut off.
"I, I, I... What? What do you want to say that explains you coming late for my class? I'm going to give you a pass today, but next time, I'm taking you to the principal. You got that, Jaze?"
Here's the corrected version of your text:
"Yes, sir, I got it!" I replied with a firm tone. I wished that would happen, but I knew I would definitely be late again. That cat was just too adorable. I couldn't miss feeding her for anything in the world. I went to my chair and sat down. Jack hit my chair from behind with his foot, making a loud thud.
"Mr. Jaze, would you please keep your voice down?" The class buzzed with giggles. Little scumbags made me feel sick. I placed my head on the table, not paying attention to their laughter, which died down after a few seconds.
"Mr. Stephen, here's the new student. I'll leave her to you," I heard a voice that was familiar—it was Mrs. Tracy's voice. My head still lay on the table, wishing this nightmare of a day would end so I could go home and check on the cat that was always sprawled next to the tree.
"Um... Everyone, attention. A new student just arrived. Please introduce yourself." I could hear him chuckle even without looking. He just couldn't keep his teeth to himself every time a girl walked into the class.
"Hi, everyone. I'm glad to be here. My name is Meredith," I heard a feminine voice, but not just any kind of voice. That voice sounded so much like my mom's—soothing, mystical. I could feel a different kind of aura exuding from the distance. I don't know why, but I've always had the ability to sense others' auras from a distance, though it was a faint feeling.