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its a short (and incomplete) story that i started in my writing workshop class (whoo! finaly!) i dont count on finishing the story of Nicoli but if you think i should, pm's and coments are happily welcomed...anybody...

“There’s a lot going on in his head.” Miss Bleu smiled, her ruby red nails fiddling with one another, her eyes refusing to meet Mr. Gudiel, “and he has a big heart. You wouldn’t believe how much he cares for that hamster.”
“Is that so Ms. Bleu?” Mr. Gudiel asked, eyeing the hem of her skirt. She quickly closed her legs tighter as they sat in chairs that are only meant for the butts of 3 and 4 year olds.
“I really have nothing more to tell you besides that Nicoli is a delight to have in my class.” She scooted her chair a ways from the table. Mr. Gudiel scooted forward.
“That’s a lovely shade of red Ms.Bleu. Only younger people normally wear that shade. Might you be younger than I thought?” Mr. Gudiel asked. Grabbing her arm.
“where’s Nicoli any how?” she asked tugging away. Mr. Gudiel snorted.
“how should I know?”

Nicoli walked the dusty road to his house. No other shadows to his left or right side, not that he could tell to his left, being as his eye was gone and all. The only one there with him was Mr. Noodles, the class hamster who made it habit to dine solely on Ramen Nodles. “Hyphema” he began his definition. The time that other children his age used to hunt bugs and dare others to eat them, he spent reading. His mother gave him one volume in the encyclopedia every year, and each time he taught himself new words that no 4 year old would be able to comprehend. “Is blood in the front chamber of the eye. It may appear as a reddish tinge, or it may appear as a small pool of blood at the bottom of the iris or in the cornea.” He finished his only symptom of O.C.D and smiled at the hamster who wriggled as it walked along.
His father was a drunk, seldom sober, and used to always take it out on his mother. She had put Nicoli in the car with this man, not knowing what damage he could possibly cause on her son. They were on their way to a party for Nicoli’s eldest grandmother. Her sweet 16 in dog years. Nicoli had no idea how his eldest gran-gran was only 16 and him mom was at least 29, but he didn’t question gran-gran’s reasoning. The car was pushing 90 mph and the sirens behind them screeched out warnings of the iron cage. His father continued to jam on the acceleration, the already moist ground of England becoming slippery with the onslaught of rain. All of the nest events blurred into themselves. One second Nicoli could see his father in the drivers seat, one loud sound and glass crashing later, his father’s image was being over shadowed with darkness, and next. Nothing.