Scene+7

“I do not have much time left my dear son”, she whispered, “so I will just talk without much delay.” Her spirit grew ever so fainter. Christopher was torn in half. One part could not believe that he was actually looking at his deceased mother. That part included the part that was partly drunk. While the other half believed in her every word. “Livingston is in our old house, in the outskirts of town, but watch your step for he is waiting.” Christopher, now sober, saw that she wished to say more but he knew that her time had come to go back. She gave him a faint kiss on the head, which gave him chills, and her shadowy figure was gone. He was once again left alone in the foggy and dark cemetery, but he no longer felt alone since now he knew his mother was watching over him. He stood up and with some renewed hope and was again determined to change his brother back, since his brother was the only thing he had left. He looked at the sky and saw that a faint beam of light from the moon had escaped the fog. “Even in complete darkness there will always be light” he whispered and then headed back to the town. Christopher knew there would have to be a battle, a battle to see if Livingston would change on his own accord. Christopher also knew that he had to get rid of this evil in the world and save his brother, even if it cost him his own life. He quickly borrowed a horse and took a few pistols with him. He rode directly to the abandoned house. Christopher tied the horse on a nearby tree and directed his attention to the house in front of him. As he walked on the front porch he examined the damage of years and years of poor or no maintenance. The white paint was chipped and ripped, the wood could be seen underneath. The smell of damp and wet wood was also in the air. Even though the site horrified him to no end the decaying home also brought him sweet memories from his childhood, times when his mother was alive and his brother was good times when… “So you are finally here to get this over with big brother…” a hoarse voice said from above the roof. Christopher jumped and stared at his younger brother. As he glared, Livingston smirked. “You are not my brother, demon” he spit in a raging voice “you are just using his skin.” “Well, smart aren’t we?” Livingston said in a sarcastic voice. “Though I have to admit you surprised me their…..Christopher” he said, as if the name disgusted him. “I never thought you would make it this far after you know…. what happened to the beautiful Rose” he licked his lips as he said her name, “a shame really.” Christopher couldn’t take it. The moment the name Rose slithered out of Livingston’s pale lips he took his gun and shot at the space were only seconds ago Livingston had been. “Oops, too slow” was whispered in Christopher’s ear before he felt the punch his brother gave him.
 * Erin 1st d raft Nov. 30 2010 **

“I do not have much time left my dear son”, she whispered, “so I will just talk without much delay.” Her spirit grew ever so fainter. Christopher was torn in half. One part could not believe that he was actually looking at his deceased mother. That part included the part that was partly drunk. While the other half believed in her every word. “Livingston is in our old house, in the outskirts of town, but watch your step for he is waiting.” Christopher, now sober, saw that she wished to say more but he knew that her time had come to go back. She gave him a faint kiss on the head, which gave him chills, and her shadowy figure was gone. He was once again left alone in the foggy and dark cemetery, but he no longer felt alone since now he knew his mother was watching over him. He stood up and with some renewed hope and was again determined to change his brother back, since his brother was the only thing he had left. He looked at the sky and saw that a faint beam of light from the moon had escaped the fog. “Even in complete darkness there will always be light” he whispered and then headed back to the town. Christopher knew there would have to be a battle, a battle to see if Livingston would change on his own accord. Christopher also knew that he had to get rid of this evil in the world and save his brother, even if it cost him his own life. He quickly borrowed a horse and took a few pistols with him. He rode directly to the abandoned house. Christopher tied the horse on a nearby tree and directed his attention to the house in front of him. As he walked on the front porch he examined the damage of years and years of poor or no maintenance. The white paint was chipped and ripped, the wood could be seen underneath. The smell of damp and wet wood was also in the air. Even though the site horrified him to no end the decaying home also brought him sweet memories from his childhood, times when his mother was alive and his brother was good times when… “So you are finally here to get this over with big brother…” a hoarse voice said from above the roof. Christopher jumped and stared at his younger brother. As he glared, Livingston smirked. “You are not my brother, demon” he spit in a raging voice “you are just using his skin.” “Well, smart aren’t we?” Livingston said in a sarcastic voice. “Though I have to admit you surprised me their…..Christopher” he said, as if the name disgusted him. “I never thought you would make it this far after you know…. what happened to the beautiful Rose” he licked his lips as he said her name, “a shame really.” Christopher couldn’t take it. The moment the name Rose slithered out of Livingston’s pale lips he took his gun and shot at the space were only seconds ago Livingston had been. “Oops, too slow” was whispered in Christopher’s ear before he felt the punch his brother gave him. “Really, Big bro I thought you would be more of a challenge” he muttered, but before Livingston could finish his brother off Christopher kicked him in the crotch, grabbed a knife hidden in his pocket and pointed it at his own neck. Livingston, very surprised, asked “What are you doing!?” “Saving you” responded Christopher.
 * Erin 2 d raft Dec.1 2010 **

**Erin 3 d raft Dec.3 2010 ** “I do not have much time left my dear son”, she whispered, “so I will just talk without much delay.” Her spirit grew ever so fainter. Christopher was torn in half. One part could not believe that he was actually looking at his deceased mother. That part included the part that was partly drunk. While the other half believed in her every word. “Livingston is in our old house, in the outskirts of town, but watch your step for he is waiting.” Christopher, now sober, saw that she wished to say more but he knew that her time had come to go back. She gave him a faint kiss on the head, which gave him chills, and her shadowy figure was gone. He was once again left alone in the foggy and dark cemetery, but he no longer felt alone since now he knew his mother was watching over him. He stood up and with some renewed hope and was again determined to change his brother back, since his brother was the only thing he had left. He looked at the sky and saw that a faint beam of light from the moon had escaped the fog. “Even in complete darkness there will always be light” he whispered and then headed back to the town. Christopher knew there would have to be a battle, a battle to see if Livingston would change on his own accord. Christopher also knew that he had to get rid of this evil in the world and save his brother, even if it cost him his own life. He quickly borrowed a horse and took a few pistols with him. He rode directly to the abandoned house. Christopher tied the horse on a nearby tree and directed his attention to the house in front of him. As he walked on the front porch he examined the damage of years and years of poor or no maintenance. The white paint was chipped and ripped, the wood could be seen underneath. The smell of damp and wet wood was also in the air. Even though the site horrified him to no end the decaying home also brought him sweet memories from his childhood, times when his mother was alive and his brother was good times when… “So you are finally here to get this over with big brother…” a hoarse voice said from above the roof. Christopher jumped and stared at his younger brother. As he glared, Livingston smirked. “You are not my brother, demon” he spit in a raging voice “you are just using his skin.” “Well, smart aren’t we?” Livingston said in a sarcastic voice. “Though I have to admit you surprised me their…..Christopher” he said, as if the name disgusted him. “I never thought you would make it this far after you know…. what happened to the beautiful Rose” he licked his lips as he said her name, “a shame really.” Christopher couldn’t take it. The moment the name Rose slithered out of Livingston’s pale lips he took his gun and shot at the space were only seconds ago Livingston had been. “Oops, too slow” was whispered in Christopher’s ear before he felt the punch his brother gave him. “Really, Big bro I thought you would be more of a challenge” he muttered, but before Livingston could finish his brother off Christopher kicked him in the stomach, grabbed a knife hidden in his pocket and pointed it surprisingly, **at his own neck**. Livingston, very surprised, asked “What are you doing!?” “Saving you” responded Christopher. Christopher knew he had to sacrifice himself. I was the only way to save his brother. When his mother had told him at first that this was what he had to do he had been even for than confused. But now that the time was right he understood perfectly. The deed of giving one’s life to another person was something so humane and caring that the demon inside Livingston’s body would never understand and it would burn him like a glass of holy water, therefore expelling him from the body of the host. The demon seemed to suddenly catch on to all of what he was doing and tried to stop him. Livingston ran towards him trying to take his knife. “You will never win!” it screeched, no longer a human voice inside. But it was too late as Christopher dug the knife into his own neck, the before pale flesh turned crimson red. No sooner had Christopher sliced his own skin that Livingston’s eyes rolled back in their sockets An animal scream was heard all over town that night. Christopher, although dying, was happy to see that it had worked, as his brother slumped to the ground and regained consciousness. The lifeless charcoal black of his eyes had been replaced by a mossy green. His also pale cheeks had regained somewhat of their color. Livingston started to cry as he saw his brother. “Forgive me” he whispered in to his dying siblings ear. That night Christopher died, but not without tear marks running down his cheeks and a sad smile plastered on his face.


 * Maria Fernanda First Draft **

The image of his mother was enough to leave him speechless. He could finally see in her what everybody else saw; what he had ignored all those years. The joyful look in her eyes was now replaced by a cold gaze. Her warm hands that had once stroked his hair, and held his hand were now long bony fingers, so fragile looking that with one touch, they would shatter into tiny little pieces. Her beautiful long brown hair was now grey and lifeless and her perfect smile was just a thin line of nothing. “Mom, what has happened to you?” Christopher sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “My love, there’s no time, Livingston is hiding in out old home in the outskirts of town, please hurry Christopher, save your little brother.” She told him “But mom…” but he stopped there, for his mom was ready to part, slowly fading away into the night. “I’ll see you soon my dear son” she whispered, slowly stroking his cheek sending chills down his spine. There was no time to loose, after some preparing, Christopher heads out with high hopes that he can at least try to save his brother. As he was approaching the house, Christopher realized he really wouldn’t know what to do, would Livingston listen to him? Would he try to kill him, as he had with his girlfriend, Rose, and father McKinley? Would he come back to his senses? All these questions were going through Christopher’s head, making him more and more uneasy as the seconds passed by. Once he arrived at his old house, all the flashbacks from when they were kids were coming back to him now. How he had never given Livingston advice like an older brother should, how even when his mother asked him too, he never stayed home. All those memories were giving him a feeling of guilt, such guilt that made him feel heavier with every step he took. Just as he was going up the steps of the creaky old house, Livingston crept up behind him, grabbing him by the neck and pinned him down the floor. “What do you want? //Big brother?//” Livingston mumbled under his breath “I want to help you! Please, please let me” Christopher begged “The only thing you could help me with, was bringing mom back, but you can’t can you? No, because you were a spoiled brat, not caring about anything or anyone, not even about OUR own mother” You could tell by Livingston’s sour tone, that all the anger he felt towards Christopher had been building up through the years, not even all those years of bottled up anger would have prepared him for what was about to happen. “I just have to get rid of him; one little stab and he’s done” thought Livingston Livingston launches towards him, but Christopher ducks, slowly taking a sharp knife out of his pocket and pointing it towards his own neck. “Now what do you think you’re doing?” Livingston questioned alarmed “Doing you a favor” Christopher stammered uneasily for he did not know what was going to happen next.


 * <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Maria Fernanda Second Draft **

<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">The image of his mother was enough to leave him speechless. He could finally see in her what everybody else saw; what he had ignored all those years. The joyful look in her eyes was now replaced by a cold gaze. Her warm hands that had once stroked his hair, and held his hand were now long bony fingers, so fragile looking that with one touch, they would shatter into tiny little pieces. Her beautiful long brown hair was now grey and lifeless and her perfect smile was just a thin line of nothing. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mom, what has happened to you?” Christopher sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“My love, there’s no time, Livingston is hiding in our old home in the outskirts of town, please hurry Christopher, save your little brother.” She pleaded <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“But mom…” but he stopped there, for his mom was ready to part, slowly fading away into the night. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’ll see you soon my dear son” she whispered, slowly stroking his cheek sending chills down his spine. There was no time to loose; after some preparing, Christopher headed out on his horse, with high hopes to at least try to save his brother. As he was approaching the house, Christopher realized he really wouldn’t know what to do; would Livingston listen to him? Would he try to kill him, as he had with his girlfriend, Rose, and father McKinley? Would he come back to his senses? All these questions were going through Christopher’s head, making him more and more uneasy as the seconds passed by. Once he arrived at his old house, all the flashbacks from when they were kids were coming back to him now. How he had never given Livingston advice like an older brother should, how even when his mother asked him too, he never stayed home. All those memories were giving him a feeling of guilt, such guilt that made him feel heavier with every step he took. Just as he was going up the steps of the creaky old house, Livingston crept up behind him, and grabbing him by the neck, pinned him down the floor. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“What do you want //big brother?//” Livingston mumbled under his breath <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I want to help you” Christopher replied <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“The only thing //you// could help me with, would be bringing mom back, but you can’t can you? No, because you were a spoiled brat, not caring about anything or anyone, not even about OUR own mother” <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You could tell by Livingston’s sour tone, that all the anger he felt towards Christopher had been building up throughout the years, but not even all those years of bottled up anger would have prepared Livingston for what was about to happen. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I just have to get rid of him; one little stab and he’s done” thought Livingston <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Livingston launched himself towards him, but Christopher was too fast for him and ducked right before his bony hands could reach him. Slowly, and before Livingston could stand up, Christopher took a sharp knife out of his pocket and pointed it towards his own neck. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Now what do you think you’re doing!?” Livingston questioned alarmed <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Doing you a favor” Christopher stammered uneasily, for he did not know what was going to happen next.


 * <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Maria Fernanda 3rd Draft **

<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The image of his mother was enough to leave him motionless. He could finally see in her what everybody else saw; what he had chosen to ignore all those years. The joyful look in her eyes was now replaced by a cold gaze. Her warm hands that had once stroked his hair, and held his hand were now long bony fingers, so fragile looking that with one touch, they would shatter into tiny little pieces and her beautiful long, brown hair was now grey and lifeless. But what hurt the most was that her once perfect smile had turned into just a thin line of nothing. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mom… what has happened to you?” Christopher sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“My love, there’s no time, Livingston is hiding in our old home in the outskirts of town, please hurry Christopher, save your little brother.” She pleaded <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“But mom…” but he stopped there, for his mom was ready to part, slowly fading away into the night. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’ll see you soon my dear son” she whispered, slowly stroking his cheek sending chills down his spine. There was no time to loose; after some preparing, Christopher headed out on his horse, with hope that he would try to save his brother. As he was approaching the house, Christopher realized he really wouldn’t know what to do; would Livingston listen to him? Would he try to kill him, as he had with Rose, and father McKinley? Would he come back to his senses? All these questions were going through Christopher’s head, making him more and more uneasy as the seconds passed by. Once he arrived at his old house, all the flashbacks from when they were kids were coming back to him now. How he had never given Livingston advice like an older brother should, how even when his mother asked him too, he never stayed home. All those memories were giving him a feeling of guilt, such guilt that made him feel heavier with every step he took. Just as he was going up the steps of the creaky old house, Livingston crept up behind him, and grabbing him by the neck, pinned him down the floor. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“What do you want // big brother? //” Livingston grumbled under his breath <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I want to help you” Christopher replied <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“The only thing // you // could help me with, would be bringing mom back, but you can’t can you? No, because you were always a selfish little brat” <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You could tell by Livingston’s sour tone, that all the anger he felt towards Christopher had been building up throughout the years, but not even all those years of bottled up anger would have prepared Livingston for what was about to happen. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I just have to get rid of him; one little stab and he’s done for” thought Livingston <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Livingston launched himself towards him, but Christopher was faster and ducked right before his brother’s bony hands could reach him. Slowly, and before Livingston could stand up, Christopher took a sharp knife out of his pocket and pointed it towards his own neck. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“What do you think you’re doing!?” Livingston shrieked <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Doing you a favor” Christopher stammered uneasily; for he did not know what was going to happen next. <span style="color: black; font-family: 'Bookman Old Style',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">