Untitled Short Story

"Stop Yelling!" The first words I have said in days, and they burst out of my mouth causing a painfully loud silence as my family looked around at one another. All they had been doing for days were fighting, everyone mad at everyone else. This time it was Grahams fault for not being smart enough to hide the booze from Mom and Dad ahead of time; however Mom and Dad never once thought maybe they knew better and could handle themselves. I'm only just celebrating my twelfth birthday and I know better than they do...
"Young lady you do not tell us what to do," bellowed Mom, her index finger held stiffly in place firing hot bullets between my eyes. "Your father and I have told you to do this many times before, and we will get it through your thick skulls if we have to beat it in there!" Her eyes skimmed across the three horrified children beside me, sending the hot bullets to each of us; her finger, still nicely in place with my head. Dad must have felt over powered, because he soon stepped in to play - starting off with a crisp back hand slap across Jordan's already bruised cheek.
I hate it when they get like that; I keep telling myself its because they want to discipline us so that we can grow up and be successful - everyone knows discipline is a key step to raising children... That old excuse for hitting us was wearing thin on me though. I am only twelve and I have seen more hatred than I know how to explain. More drunken acts than I care to explain. All I can do is sit and ask myself why. Why are people like this? Is it just our family? When will it end?
From the time I knew how to speak I have always felt like I needed something more. I never really knew what it was until now. I want to be loved. I want someone to take care of me, like I see in the movies. Someone who will bring me soup when I'm sick, or simply offer a shoulder to cry on when I'm down, listen to me when I have something to say... Just as I think this last thought to myself I realize that I have been day dreaming the whole time the parents were rambling their complaints. The lack of attention paid to my father seemed to be disrespectful toward him, and this was the time for punishment. Reaching out to me, he pulled my hair and my three siblings scurried off to bed before they could see much more...

One scratch and four bruises later, its two oclock in the morning; the only thing I could think of was having to be up in five hours for school. I set my alarm clock, turned off my light and quietly slid inbetween my torn grey blankets on the floor. I rest my head on my pillow, careful not to disturb the cut that I had finally got to stop bleeding. My eyes heavy from exhaustion closed fast and I found myself in a most wonderful place...
Sittin on a picnic table with a group of people I haven't met, yet seemed unbelievably close to. They were friends, best friends; the first friends I had ever had. All of us staring intently at an hour glass, which for a second only showed our reflections. My golden brown hair shining brightly from sun light. Warm hazel eyes like my father's, and the small ears that hung in place with my wide smile like my mother's. I look to the right of my reflection and see a red haired boy, skinny with a rounder face - and as big a smile as the sun in the sky. I blinked for just a second and when I opened my eyes again our reflections were gone... The sunglight was gone, surrounded by a cold shadow; yet all we do is sit, and watch the hour glass start to glow a dark purple as if storm clouds were gathering. I see the full moon in all its glory inside the hour glass, its stars are falling down around it; thus they fall down the middle tube and into the darkened sun and dreary clouds that lay in the bottom of the hour glass. It made no sense, none of the kids around me looked as scared as I felt; though its magic was calling to me - we all stared into it a little bit longer. The glow protruding from the stars was enchanting as they were slowly engulfed. The moon was starting to fall now...
I am rudely awaken by the screeching of that damn alarm clock. Seven o'clock on what looks to be a very sunny Monday morning. I creep down the stairs trying not to awake my drooling mother in the room next to me. Every foot step makes the floor creak, and when I reached the hall the sound of my feet slapping the cold tile seemed to intensify. Graham is already downstairs; the aroma of burnt toast told me he was attempting to make breakfast for everyone. The first sign of another day... I wonder if I'll make it through this one... I wonder if I want to.