Do you like this story so far. I need a title too so if you have any ideas.

By on September 20th, 2009

It was dark and cold, no cold didn’t even describe temperature as the chill ran its icy finger up my spine. I was vaguely aware that I was alone, but alone where. I felt around me and my hands came in contact with something warm. I let me hand sit there letting it absorb the heat of the liquid. Then I smelt it, I look down to see the crimson stain of blood on the ground. That’s when I became aware of the ache in my head. I reached back to my head and felt more of the warm liquid, I was suddenly dizzy but I knew I had to get up. I found my feet and forced myself vertical looking around as I did so. On one side of me there was a red brick wall that seemed like it had been battered by a tornado but on the other side there was a door. It was black and it blended in almost too much for me to recognize the shape of the handle, but it was there. I ran across the short distance and reached for it trying to escape the cold, but when I touched the doorknob it felt as if the world had frozen over. My hand dropped automatically shying away from the wintry feel. My head pounded and my knees buckled beneath me, I knew I had to get out of this place, to get some help for my head, but there was nowhere to go. I turned around, my head and stomach churning, and saw a faint silhouette of a muscular person about six feet tall with his back turned. I ran awkwardly towards him frantic to have some sort of company in this sinister place. I stumbled down the alley, tripping over the holes in the ruined concrete, skinning my knees and hurting my head father. If only I could see his face, then I would be okay, but the only image I got was the back of his head. I called out to him as if it would make him stop, as if my life mattered to him, and I realized that was the reason I was running. I had to get out or I would die. When my faint screams reached his ears he turned his head slightly so I could see one piercing green eye. That’s when I realized this man wasn’t going to help me, he was the reason I was dying.
.

Pale light danced across me eyelids daring me to awake. I opened my eyes halfway and realized that the shrill sound of my alarm clock going off was what disturbed my peaceful sleep. I reached over to the red and white clock that sat on the brown table beside my bed and hit the off button. The smell of bacon and eggs, coming from the kitchen I was sure, rose up and woke me completely. I jumped out of bed and flew to the curtains, I cracked them open to have my guesses confirmed, it was the first day of summer vacation. I ran down the spiraling stairs almost tripping over my dog as I did, I didn’t stop to check on him in my hurry to the kitchen.
I reached the gleaming room in under a minute, a record time. I took in the white cabinets and granite counter tops. This was a sunny place, a happy atmosphere. Everything had a place, from the pots and pans to the junk in the trash can, and that fact comforted me. I turned to see a man standing at the huge black top stove. He had jet black hair and he turned his head just far enough so I could see on cat-like green eye. For some reason the thought pulled up a memory that was not yet developed. I pushed it back and started my examination again. The man was wearing a “Kiss the Chef” apron and a green shirt poked out from underneath it, I knew him from somewhere other than the obvious reason, for he was my father, but there was something else and the undeveloped memory popped up again. I was concentrating hard when he finally spoke.
“Good morning Bay, and how are you doing this morning.” my dad’s cheerful voice called.
“Very good and what about you my kind sir.”
“I suppose it is better now that you are up, I was rather lonely having no one to share this food with.” He said mock sadness filling his sweet tone.
“Well don’t worry I have that all taken care of.” I responded.
“I don’t know Baylyn, I have cooked up quite a feast, I hope you can eat it all.”
I grimaced, I hated when people used my real name. My mom, when I was born wanted me to have a unique name, since well hers was so common. She wanted her baby to be her own person, to have her own life, or that is how she put it. Unfortunately, I would have rather had a name that was common, like Madison or Becky, but whenever I would complain she would just shake her head.
“Dad, didn’t you agree to just call me Bay from now on, I thought you had it down for the longest time.” And that was true, he was doing good about calling me by my preferred name even though I know it cut him deep not to be able to use my formal name. That was the only thing of my mother he had left, the only real memory. Well, I guess that’s how it works, when a parent dies, the other one always keep a little too careful of a watch on you like fate is going to yank you away at any second. But it wasn’t fate that took my mom; no it was worse than any type of fate. No one deserved this no matter what they have done in their pas