• I clambered up to the attic like I did practically everyday. The dust of years piled up and gone by tickled my nose and made me sneeze. I went over to the boxes containing my mother's things. I rummaged through the box, glancing at the various pictures and objects.
    I stopped at a red photo album. In fancy, curled script were the words Wedding Album. I gingerly picked it up and opened it. I sat back and leaned against the creaking attic wall as I looked at the picture of my mother and father at the alter. My dad seemed so different back then. His hair was chestnut brown like mine, but it combed and smoothed back, unlike mine where I really didn't do much about it. To be perfectly honest, I preferred my father's hair as he usually had it. Shaggy and normally uncombed.
    While my father looked rather comical in the wedding picture, my mother looked elegant and beautiful. Her long black hair flowed down her back like a river of shadows. She was smiling happily yet had an air of calm about her. Her eyes were as dark as onyx. There was a prominent, moon shaped scar right on her collar bone, but she was so beautiful that it hardly mattered. My mother's skin was also slightly tanned, as was mine. The wedding gown she wore was simple yet elegant. But it just didn't seem to fit my mother.
    My mother was more of a person who would have rather slept in the mud than wear a dress. She never even wore skirts. Mom always wore jeans and t-shirts. If I remembered correctly, she never wore make-up either. Not that she needed it. I smiled ruefully as I remembered her.
    Mom had mysteriously disappeared when I was six. It was so strange that I still found it hard to think about it. One day she was at home and playing army commando Barbies with me, the next she was just gone, leaving only me and my dad. I was now nineteen and still trying to find out the reason for her disappearance. I had practically a thousand theories in my head. Some were more believable than others.
    "Hey, Elliot! You up here again?" a deep yet familiar voice called up as its owner clambered up to the attic.
    "Yeah! What are you doing here? I thought you had a date with what's-her-name!" I called back as I flicked a dust bunny off my denim shorts. I really hadn't expected Ares to come to my house today. He usually had a date or something during the day.
    Ares appeared at the top of the steps. He was rather tall and appeared to be in his early twenties. I didn't really know his age though. He had a slight tan, but it was darker than mine. His black hair was rather shaggy and uncombed. Some dark stubble grew on his chin. Ares had a muscular build and liked to show it off, particularly to girls. I was thankfully an exception to that due to our friendship. He wore dark, ripped up jeans that had stains that kinda reminded me of blood, though I hoped it wasn't. However, Ares often got into fights with other guys. And he actually enjoyed it. A black muscle shirt covered his bruised and scarred up torso. To be brutally honest, he sometimes even scared me when we hung out. But that was only when he was mad.
    Ares sat down next to me. I stifled a laugh as I noticed a kiss mark in bright red lipstick on one cheek and a red slap mark on the other. He glared at me with blood red eyes.
    "It's not funny." he growled, wiping the lipstick off his face. I kept laughing.
    "Yes, it is! She obviously kissed you, then you acted like a pervert, and then she slapped you! It's ********' funny!" I laughed, trying to stop. I eventually calmed down to a light snickering. Ares rolled his eyes in annoyance.
    "Just shut up." he replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His eyes wandered to the picture in my lap. "That again?"
    "Yeah. I've told you before, Ares, no matter how many times you tell me to give this thing up, I won't. I have to at least find out why she disappeared. Maybe she was in trouble. Maybe she was kidnapped. Maybe she was blackmailed into leaving. I don't know. So I have to find out." I told him thruthfully.
    Ares was always telling me to give up on finding out what happened to my mother. He kept saying it was useless and that I was better off not worrying about it. What right did he have to say that? It was my life that it affected, not his. So I was going to find out. Whether he wanted me to or not.