I rode in the back seat of a white limo on black leather seats. I only carried one old, torn up duffel bag with me which I had tossed casually onto a nearby seat. This was my fourth family in six years, and you can imagine how I felt after being tossed around. The past families had been fairly nice, but always seemed to give up after a while. I assumed I was too much for them, but much later I found out that that was not the case.

I remembered the awed looks of my beloved friends at the orphanage as the long white limo pulled up to our run down home. They wished me luck with my new family, but they knew as well as I that'd I'd eventually return.

I felt more alone as ever as I sat in the grand limo, sipping cold ice water that the driver had offered me. I held on to the cars hooks as we bounced over the crowded, pedestrian covered streets. I had never been to San Francisco before. Sure I'd seen pictures, postcards, and researched it in books, but seeing it first hand was whole different experience. The fog dipped into the city and seemed to attempt to stand on the earth, trying to abduct the oddly colored houses and shops in it's thick white mist. The clumped together townhouses seemed to grow as we traveled to the outskirts of San Francisco, into a gated community atop a sloping hillside.

A new house, new school, and a new family. I guess you could call this, 'the story of my life'. But hey, you'd think I'd be used to the routine by now. Unfortunately, I never grew accustomed to this odd string of events. It didn't seem human to grow accustomed to having to move from family to family, trying to find myself each time. But what could I do about it?
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The driver, dressed in a black suit and an old leather cap, opened the door for me in front of a marble mansion. It was the largest building I'd ever seen. The building's architecture was copied from Greek or Roman times, with its large stone pillars and broad, wide arches.
((still finishing this part!))

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I ducked into the bathroom, my friends followed my every move. I checked my makeup, perfect as always. Fake smiles were written across my friends faces. As I examined myself in the mirror, my friends told me I'd never looked better. But I saw past their fake smiles and pitchy laughter. They were jealous, everyone was jealous of me. I didn't know why, I wasn't perfect, and yet, everyone thought I was angel. A beautiful, jaw dropping, magnificent angel. And the reality was that I liked people thinking that. I liked the attention. But what if these people, my so called friends, began to see past the mist surrounding me? What if they realized, I wasn't an angel?
“Ok,” I smacked my lips and threw my lip gloss into my back pack. “Let's go,” the other girls followed me out of the bathroom, smiling like their smiles were plastered onto their faces.
“So Brin,” Shandra, my closest friend, sang, “have you heard about Trent's party on Friday? He's invited all of us.” She said loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. I thought Shandra was such a hypocrite, but then again, wasn't I?
“Uh, great,” I tried to sound enthused, but I dreaded parties. In truth, I loved to just sit at home with a big bowl of my favorite ice cream and just read to my hearts content. Nothing made me more happy. “Sounds cool,” I lied. Good thing my friends weren't the brightest people around, or they would have detected my lack of enthusiasum.
“Ok,” Shandra smiled. She then whined her usual antics. About how all the teachers were out to get her. I just listened quietly until finally I was saved by the final bell.
“See you later,” I ran to her favorite class, writers work shop. It was my safety net, the one class I could be myself. There was only four people in the class, none who cared about my popularity status. And for that I was truly thankful.
Brin plopped into the seat next to a shy kid named Jasper. “Hey Jasper,” I said as I rummaged in my back pack for my pale blue notebook.
“Hi,” he squeaked, never looking up from his book. I didn't take it personally, it was just the way he acted. Everyone looked up as a pale, black haired man stepped into the room. I covered my gasp with a quick hick-up. I had been in Mr.Levi's class the whole semester. I had grown accustomed to his too bright shirts and his never shaved face. But this Mr.Levi did not look the same.
This man that walked into room 27 wore a midnight blue shirt that seemed to make him disintegrate into the darkness of the classroom. His hair was deathly white, spiked in the front. His face was pale except for a large gash on his left cheek. When he smiled his pearly white smile, it sent chills down Brin's back. “Hello class,” he smiled wickedly. I could not stop myself from staring at him. Although his clothing and smile was distracting, it was his blood red eyes that really caught me off guard. It was like I was hypnotized.
He strutted over to my desk and laid his pale white, bony fingers on my notebook. “How is your story coming along,” he said, his eyes stuck on my face like glue.
I found myself unable to speak. He laughed the same dark, low laugh. “Brin Shey,” he smiled, leaning closer towards me, “mind stepping outside the classroom.” I couldn't help but leave my seat, and trail behind him like a dog following his master. I stepped into the deserted hallway and Mr.Levi turned to face me. “Brin,” he smiled, like I had just insulted him. I could feel his blood shot eyes staring her down.
“Uh,” I shook my head, trying to make myself snap out of it. “Yes,” I tried to sound confident, but it came out too squeaky, like I was a mouse.
Then it happened. Something flashed in my mind, a white castle followed by shrieks and ear shattering screams. Blood spooned across the tiled linoleum floor. An attic window filled with light and shadows of unexplainable monsters. The roars of something, all to ugly and terrifying to try to describe. Then, excruciating pain, but this time it wasn't in my head. I had fallen onto the floor. I could see Mr.Levi's beady eyes gazing down at me.
Then it was dark. The memories once again returned. But were they memories? They couldn't be her memories....could they?