Smoke & Blood

DISCLAIMER: this book does NOT reflect any of my personal views.

It's a book about racism, ignorance, and destruction. It addresses the fact that certain people in this country still haven't learned to accept folks who look/act/think differently than they do.

Seems like my friends are always asking, "do you really have a twin?" or "were you adopted?" or "did you chase the Jonas Brothers across the country?" and I can assure you that the answer to all these questions is NO. While the characters in my novels have done those things, I have not. Not even close.

I write fiction. Fic-tion. As in, it is made up and not real.

Thanks for understanding. Now that we've gotten that out of the way....enjoy!

Love, Lisa





Blake smelled like smoke and blood.

I was sleeping; I went to bed early that night because tomorrow was testing day. I had to do well so I could be in the accelerated classes next year. A lot was riding on those tests.

Blake opened the door to my bedroom, waking me with his rotten stench. I breathed through my mouth in order to avoid it. Sweat, beer, and dirt. Something else, something rotten and decaying. It made my stomach turn.

“Where did you go?” I groaned, shielding my eyes from the light in the hallway.

“Out.”

“Why weren’t you here, Blake?” I asked. Mom came home from the hospital today. We were supposed to be together, as a family. That was the plan. Didn’t Blake care that Mom was getting better? This time she was healed. She promised me. And she poured her pills down the sink, right in front of me and Daddy. As proof.

“Because this place sucks,” Blake told me. His eyes were crazy red, like when Mom was in one of her spells. He glanced at me, at the wall above my bed. He couldn’t focus on one thing.

I swallowed hard. He had no right waking me up. I had a big day tomorrow. Blake was trying to ruin me, the way he had ruined Mom.

“Blake, I’m sleepy.” I yawned for effect.

“I've been, uh, I can't…” he trailed off. He ran a hand over his shaved head, stalling for time. Blake was not one to stall; he was impatient and loud. Demanding.

This change made me nervous.

“What‘s going on?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“Shelby, I need you to get rid of these.”

“Huh?”

“My boots.” He slid out of the leather boots, something he never did. I swear, Blake slept in those things. They were a part of his body.

He dropped them at the edge of my bed, and I had to wrinkle my nose. The boots were covered in salt, mud, and sticky liquid. It was so gross. My heart was thudding so loud, I could hardly hear anything else.

“Blake, what am I supposed to do with those?” I asked as he slid the boots beneath my bed. I was crying, even though I’d tried to avoid that.

“The dumpster on the way to school. Thanks, Shelby. Thanks.”

He strapped up a pair of Dad’s old workboots. They were ragged and worn-out. But they were clean…at least, cleaner than the ones Blake had placed beneath my bed.

He walked out of my room like nothing had happened.

I sighed and rolled over. There would be no sleep tonight, that was for sure. I’d probably fail every test the next day. I’d end up in stupid classes next year. With the retards. And the ghetto kids, the ones in the projects.

Something crashed on the other side of the house. Then the screaming started. I crept to the edge of the bed. I tried to hear every word even though I knew this wouldn’t end well.

“I wanted you here today,” Mom said. Her voice was pleading.

“Shut your mouth,” Blake snapped.

Dad’s voice boomed through the halls. “Boy, don’t talk to your mother like that!”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Blake growled. He always had a wild streak, according to Mom. But things had been really bad lately. He dropped out of school last month and he was stealing money again. Blake was a thief and a liar.

“As long as you live under my roof-” Dad began.

“I hate this house,” Blake retaliated. By this point, he was shouting so loud that I could feel the vibrations in my bones. “Go to hell. Both of you. A pillhead mom and a coward father.”

-GET OUT!

-I’M GONE!

The front door slammed. He would be back when he ran out of money. Blake was predictable. He was a disease we couldn’t get rid of. He sucked the life out of everyone.

Mom was crying in the kitchen; I could hear her whimpers. It was the most pitiful sound in the world.

She had a secret stash of pills in the laundry room, behind the fabric softener. I crept down the stairs, moving quickly and quietly. I dumped every pill down the toilet so she wouldn’t be tempted. Blake was determined to destroy her. I refused to let that happen.