Please Help Edit my story (Bad Grammar)

In my head death is not as terrifying as it may seem; just an inevitable and certain things in life are unavoidable. I rush in a dream of tunnel in search of a lesson death whispered out to me. Possibly I was too young to die of sorrow or perhaps I have to pay debt to life before I take my last breath. I obeyed reality, but with dread. I ‘v been beaten by grief and no hope could anoint off the burden of misery. I never spoken a word how my father's death is killing the heart in me. The silence is utter and dreadful. I am just a soul that has been defeated and tormented. I am different and I look inversely upon the false world of men. As sensitive I may seem my eyes are not muted or soft-looking, instead they are silver gray; bright, holding and shimmering light. My black mane is straight that falls vertically like a curtain and I wore it to my waist. People are certain to look down or find me worthy of notice because of my unusual eyes, but over the years I have become accustomed to their reaction and they too have grown accustomed to my peculiar features. I had lived my whole life in Wildwood. In this small town anything that happens, everyone knows about it. It is almost like a requirement for people to keep their secrets sealed in order to decline gossip down. Fortunately, I'm a shy person and always afraid to talk about things, because if I do-if I dare to speak my mind, then something secretive might slip out of my mouth. Speaking truthfully I'm living the Hypnic Jerk than the dream.
The last day of December-that is mainly uninviting stretch of winter when people speak less to each other and sleep longer. Wildwood is different from other places, my father used to say, where the sun rises to vivify the day. Wildwood, he seemed to love, is just dull. It is a town separated and far removed from the noisy and wilderness of the modern society; however, this town is wild in its own states. It is a place of wealthy of nature wonder like the untamed forest that borders the dreary town. If you step by the cliff the boundless trees unfurl across this hollow land. It is still an isolated and beautiful place-isolated enough the bridge that was reconstructed two years ago never brought in more than four new comers to the area.
The snow was falling gracefully as I walked on the streets. I didn't see it as threatening-just inevitable. There were not many people outside but few who managed were busy addressing one another. At the town store retired Sheriff Jay Brown and Rick Buckle shared laughter as Jim Wayne and Howard Erickson were joshing Leon Meyer during a game of dominoes. They were always poking good-natured fun at their opponents to brighten up the dull dawn of the day. Parlors in this small town serve as social place where people can meet and talk about things. Usually topics include the up-to-date goings-on in town and the weather. It's always the same boring chattering.
I didn't know where I was going but certainty I would find out when I get there. The snow has erased all trace of roads, and the windchill has dropped, but that did not stop me from my unrequired deed of morning walk. I distasted staying at home and seeing my second older brother, Matthews that I no longer recognize. He's changed and he is becoming easily distressed and stranger. My oldest brother, Bruce Morse, who is seventeen-going-on-eighteen, tries to understand him, which is more than mother does. Bruce over the years has become undemanding toward me. He is different from Matthews; he was a father figure in the house.
I gazed at the stained-glass windows of the small church of St. Mary. I did not retain any reasonable motive for being here but that did not prevent me from entering inside. Two elderly women, all in black kneeled in prayer. Front of them ceaseless candles gusts, on the restricted alter. Then I turned my attention to Father Connell. He is an old man, consumed with silence, listening to the prayers of elderly women. This is the man I look up to, because he always looked down at me fatherly. Father Connell had raised my father as if he was his own kid. He is respected and well-liked by the folks of Wildwood. As I sat down beside him he was devoured with stillness, lost in time and space. He doesn't say much these days and when he does, he says stuff that makes me crumble in agony of confusion. He warns me about things that I do not fully comprehend. Sometimes it is a drag to have to listen to his nonsense lecture about a threat that is coming our way. If it was someone else I would have guessed and decided he was crazy, but something about his questionable statements is making me suspicious; if that's the cause of his unusual behavior. I cannot tell if it is either his age or something anonymous that is making him wizened faster than time itself.
He looked back at me desolately, trying to form a smile on his wrinkled face. I nodded my head but said no word. "They taught us all iniquity and exposed secrets that are made in heaven." He said matter-of-factly. I stayed unresponsive to his remark. "They will all be burnt in the fire for they have misled and wronged men." He persisted after a brief silence. I grew more impatient but I kept that to myself.
"The sons of the watchers and souls of covetousness will be destroyed. All wrong belonging on the face of the earth will be ceased." He whispered in a voice tormented.
I felt imposed to listen to his speech that held no excitement for my interest. Father Connell studied me closely in a raging curiosity. I tried to conceal the expression of confusion that was written all over my face. He seemed to recognize my awful attempt, but his hunting eyes didn't leave me.
"Evelyn what's wrong?" He questioned anxiously. "Ugh." I shuddered. His brown eyes that gloomily glanced at me with concern made me feel terrible. "I'm fine," I assured adding a forced smile on my face.
"Good," Said Father Connell, and he seemed now to repossess of his full strength. We traded a few more comments like bracelets and that pretty much was it for a conversation before I left the church. I was having a hard time walking back to my house with a low visibility and a raging snow that was gushing franticly. Eventually I made it front of an old, two story house with vine creeping alongside its surface. This was a house my parents bought during the beginning of their marriage; before my two older siblings and I were born. Inside I smelled the food mother was preparing. She is a good cook, which I lacked the talent or patient for.
When I finally got back into my room I took off my boots and threw them in the closet. Mother is not going to be pleased if she sees me doing that. I am supposed to be smart and act mature but sometimes I am lazy to obey her motherly words.
At evening I had dinner with my family which doesn't happen often, but we were all presented. Everyone insisted to ignore Matthews and his sharp silvery eyes glistened as he observed us puzzled. It probably bothered or amazed him seeing us ignoring him just this once.
Unlike the old days such family gathering is a quiet event, and we didn't say much. There isn't a whole lot you can say while dreading having an evening meal without father.
In the middle of the night everything was muted except for the whooshing and whirring of the heavy snow. I tried to stay awake until nightmare whispered out to me to close my eyes. I never had a hard time trying to remember the dream about my father. It has always been the same. Sometimes some details change and varied, but the concept of the dream never changes. It was an every night occurrence, a hunting nightmare. I dreamt it so repeatedly it was all too familiar to me.
On Tuesday morning I pushed the covers and glanced toward the window and the dim morning outside. I got up and abruptly walked down the hall to the bathroom. I took a long warm shower, the water beating down on me. For a while I concentrated on shoring up my strength.
It was the only way for me to relax and bring myself to forget everything-at least for a short period of time. I stood in front of the mirror unable to avoid the irresistible impulse to observe myself and recognize the pain I was suffering. I was broken, too broken to fully fix myself, and I knew it. I Looked steadily and was overwrought by the sight of my reflection looking back at me.
Even mother noticed something was up while she drove me to school. I didn't tell her why I was feeling so worn-out because I won't allow for anyone else to suffer along with me. My pain is a private dreadful property I swore to keep a secret.
When she pulled her car by the curve I thanked her and waved goodbye. During World History class I kept doodling all over my notebook. Mr. Mankiller, the only teacher I hated just because of his name was chattering a boring lecture about China dynasty. I swear he could induce a coma with his lecture about some ancient bozo.
In Biology, my teacher popped a quiz on us. He was always good at making my life wretched. So between the beginnings to the end of the class, I tried to emotionally prepare myself to stay calm, this practice ought to keep me sane.
My friend Cathy Gorman sits next to me in English. "Hey," she said as she peered up at my face, her trademark smile expending on her face. Cathy is sixteen, short but slender. She is funny, smart, frequently hyper and my best friend since grade school. She is always making funny remarks to enhance up our dull moods. For enigmatic reason she never shows any sign of weakness. She'll tell you mocking others and laughter is the best medicine. Unlike Cathy I lack the strength and attitude to smile first thing in the morning.
"So, how you've been?" she questioned eagerly willing to listen to what I have to say. "I...uh...I've been good," I grinned reluctantly.
"You didn't call me yesterday," I stated the fact. She beamed at me biting her lower lip.
"I guess I forgot. Jeremy came over and we were watching movie and..."
I interrupted her, "you were with Jeremy?"
"Yeah, "she admitted resenting.
"I thought you didn't like him," I said reminding her. She sort of looked at me embarrassed but the smile on her face stayed unchanged.
"I have nothing against him, but I don't dislike him. It turns out we both have a lot in common. "
"That's good," I said, very quiet and still.
When class ended Cathy and I went downstairs to the cafeteria and were joined by Travis, Che Max, and Olivia on the way. We sat together at the empty table by the corner. Che started a conversation about a thrilling ghost movie he saw and then he went on suggesting ghosts might be real. It was very childish and Travis, who is the most superstitious soul you can ever imagine, disagreed to believe Che's proposal that ghosts exist.
Che is usually a lot more cynical than Travis. Travis believes in many mythical and supernatural creatures. He is always telling us stories about weird stuff. I think I am more like che Max than any of my other friends. Olivia on the other hand was sitting quietly with her eye fixed on her book. Che and Olivia are together and they are what you call inseparable. Unlike some girls Che's sense of humor, his cynical way of thinking does not bother her. She is sixteen, tall and clumsy. She wears an eye glasses and rarely grins at all.
Anyway, ignoring them I was gawking at the table across where my brother Bruce was sitting. People say my brother is a straightforward guy. Sure, he looks like a jock with his muscular body and broad shoulder, but he was unfathomable and even more mystifying than anyone else I know. He's always had a firm A average. He works really hard in school, much harder than Matthews and I combined. He takes everything seriously but he at least tries to understand others. It is almost impossible to exaggerate the similarity between my father and Bruce. Bruce is very handsome and girls are always throwing themselves at him; hoping he would claim them as his and that worries mother a little.
Just like Bruce, Matthews and I have inherited dad's bizarre gray silver eyes. Matthews is sixteen and tall, but he is a little slimmer than Bruce. There is something about his face like the rest of him. He is handsome but reckless at the same time. He is always hollering at someone over some stupid stuff. Sometimes I wonder if it's just an anger management class he needs to take instead. He hates being told how to act or what to do more than being punched across the face. Maybe that's the reason why mother is never rough with him. It is kind sad that he looks like Bruce but act precisely the opposite from him.
Appearance wise I always knew I don't measure to their standard, but people can tell we're all related just by looking at the iris of our eyes.
When lunch ended Travis and I walked to Geometry class together. He was chattering the whole time and I pretended like I was interested. I gazed at him impassively while he talked about Black Ops and other games, but in my head I was trying to figure out how to melt all his talking down to simple proverbs.
Then my last class of day, Art, followed Geometry like an everlasting nightmare. Absentmindedly I had my head on the table, and right away the teacher yelled across the room demanding my head to be picked up. I hated Art and it's not because I can't draw or Ms. Joyce's disapproval over my poor performance in the classroom, but it's because Art does not fascinate me. I just think contritely that Art and Music are insignificant, but many people dislike my opinion.
After school, my friends were waiting for me at the lot and we walked together to our favorite place. We sat by the window and we ordered pizza. I couldn't ignore the question "where is Matthews?" pinging around my brain when I realized he didn't show up at school today. Then Cathy caught my attention when she asked the dumbest question, "Do cows bite?"
Olivia rolled her eyes looking at her askance. "Cows can't bite," she said.
Cathy continued the Saga of her nonsensical l questioning when she asked sarcastically, "why not?"
Sometimes she asks foolish questions because she knows it annoys Olivia, and that satisfy her hunger for laughter. "They can't bite because cows don't have upper front teeth," Olivia said impatiently.
"Anyway, they'd rather step and knock you down than bite you."
"Thank you for that wonderful clarification," Cathy giggled.
"It's not a big deal; I just did you a little favor because thinking is such a strain to you," Olivia said.
"You're a little comedian, aren't you?" Cathy smirked at her.
"Okay," Travis said laughing. Though sometimes they can be annoying, It is kind of entertaining having Olivia and Cathy around.
"Mr. Mankiller is going to fail me his class," che complained.
"But here is the sad thing -nobody in this school likes him." Travis said.
"I hated when he makes jokes that aren't funny, "I added.
"Now-will you guys cut it out, jeez? He is actually the coolest teacher in this school," Olivia said.
We all looked at her and certainty we can tell she was just being stubborn. Though she doesn't grin often she is very sarcastic and a know-it all girl.
"As soon as he opens his mouth to speak, I nod off," Travis snickered.
"Let's face it," Olivia said. "You're not mentally sufficient to listen to anything important,"
"That is actually very inconvenient coming out of a girl who doesn't know the difference between punk and metal," Travis said biting a slice of pizza the waitress placed on our table.
"Do you want to know what is inconvenient?" olive asked, "It's how your IQ goes down in proportion of time you spend-playing games."
Travis looked at her sort of annoyed but he didn't say anything. The rest of us laughed while we each took a slice of pizza.
We stayed inside for another hour and then we decided to leave. Outside was cold but we went down to the parking lot. Dan, Travis friend who is one of those skateboard wizards greeted us.
"You're not skating right now, are you dude?" Travis asked him.
"Of course," Dan replied and he looked at me grinning overfriendly. I knew him by his reputation-everyone in the town did. He's always been a trouble maker and his two friends Andre and Tony are no different. We hanged out with them for a while and watched while they were working on perfecting their frontside grinds.
When it started to get dimmer, I scooted home. Mother had to work late, so Bruce had pizza delivered. I had already eaten earlier so I just sat in the living room tackling my world History Homework. Mother arrived late that evening. She was very upset when she opened a letter and discovered Matthews's six absences.
"I don't want you talking back anymore. Do you understand?" Her voice rose over Matthews's, overpowering his protest and excuses. As Matthews left the room, she turned her attention to me.
"Go up and get ready for bed." She said her voice loud in the silence. I wasn't tired, but, after her unwinnable argument with Matthews, I didn't dare to say a thing. I obeyed her request and went up to my room. Unlike Matthews, I don't enjoy making her upset.
On Thursday morning I woke up early and took long to get ready. I felt tired but yet I was powerful enough presently to pull myself as from the optimistic force that strangely came over me. Amazingly I felt a droll feeling that washed away all my usual needless agitation.
That feeling stayed with me until World History class, so to save me some left over sanity I decided to skip biology. I was in the bathroom, locking myself in the stall. I closed my eyes for several minutes, and then I sat there amused reading the cheesy messages on the walls. Although I was bored I waited patiently for the bell to ring.
During Lunch I searched for Matthews but I ended up disappointed, and I lied when I told myself he could be somewhere else in the school building beside this unruly cafeteria. It is always frustrating having to deal with him and mother is going to be angry yet again if he doesn't show up. Che noticed I was worried about something and he send me a sympathetic look before he started teasing Travis about something he did a week ago.
After school Bruce offered to give me a ride home. Outside the dull sky and the snow looked tired. For a while we rode in silence but then surprisingly I sat up straight when he stopped his car. There was a guy standing by the side of the empty road.
The guy was tall and apparently very mysterious. He was wearing long black coat and, despite the dim light, sunglasses. He emerged in the middle of the flat asphalt before our car caught his gaze and the he walked over and Bruce unlocked the door for him. The guy swiftly sat on the passenger seat and he turned his head around to look back at me. Though I couldn't see his eyes through the sunglasses, the way he looked at me had perplexed me. There was something strange in him that struck me as ambiguous. It turned out he knew my brother and they soon started talking. Their conversation consisted of a few names I've never heard of, but for the most part it was monotonous.