To write love on her arms

Chapter One

I just laid in bed, my head spinning. I could no longer walk in public without a trail of bodyguards pushing the hysterical fans away. 

The people thought that I was a hero. The children would always laugh and squeal if I went on the balcony. Eventually everything got to be too much and I had to leave my comfy suburb home and move into a giant mansion in the middle of the city.

It doesn't feel like home, not the way our old home used to be. Mom is worried, Gran is angry, and dad, dads loving it. He's happy to be famous, more like related to someone famous. He's put there every day, soaking g up whatever attention people will throw his way. What he doesn't see is that everyone is just using him to get one step closer to me. Don't get me wrong, I lo e my dad, but sometimes, I feel like he just doesn't see me.

Our family is desended from poor people. Every generation was barely passing by. But that was before my heroic deed.

It all started when we went to Washington for a vacation. At that time, protesting was going on. Some of it was peaceful, but most of it was violent. I would watch the protests on the news, hear about the people who had to be shot that day. Some cops lost their lives, but it mostly the citizens. People were being shot for getting rowdy and threatening the police.

We happened to go downtown, as the president himself was supposed to deliver a speech to his people. Me and mom were in the front row, and we watched as the president was escorted onto the podium. I wasn't particularly a fan of him. Let me give you perspective of what our president is like.

His name is Jonathan Pradlin. He is a self absorbed man in his late fourties. in his presidential debate, he promised that he would free up more land to build homes for the homeless and the poor.

Of course, that's what the people wanted to hear. He won the election. Once he was admitted into the office, he started to make headway on his promises. But six months in, he showed his true colors.  He took the land he had freed up and started building golf courses for his enjoyment. He started to turn the people against each other, and he would tweet on Twitter about what waa wrong with our country, our America, but he himself would do nothing. Soon, it was Pradlin supporters against Pradlin haters. It was almost like suicide to say your views on the president in public.

Some of president Pradlins bodyguards stayed at the stairs of the podium, and the rest followed him up. He adjusted the Mic, and cleared his throat.

"As you all know, the next presidential election is upon us. There is a chance to make me the president again for the next four years..."

I stopped listening after that. The most rational people knew that he had made our nation a disaster and fall into more debt. But it wouldn't matter. So many people were swayed by his words and his charm that they would do anything to keep him on office. I didn't particularly want him in the office again, but I was a minor, my opinion would matter.

I didn't quite catch what he said, but I came back to the present with people screaming and shouting angrily. I didn't see my mother anywhere, and the crowd was swelling go reach the podium. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a woman raise her hand. The sun glittered off the precious metal of her hand gun. It was pointed at Pradlin. I don't know why I did it, but just before she fired, I ran and showed the president out of the way. I head the firing and felt the brutal pain as the bullet entered my body.

I let loose a guttural scream and fell to the ground. I pressed my hands against my side, and pulled them away. There was the dizzying sight of blood. It filled the air, and I could taste it in my mouth.

Somewhere in the distance of my fuzzy brain, I could hear screaming. Someone yelled for an ambulance, and my head was placed in someone's lap. They open ed my mouth, and breathed air down my throat. I coughed and sputtered. I was choking on all the blood. Again and again, they blew into my airway.

I lost consciousness. I wove in and out of sleep. I woke to be in the ambulance. Then I woke again to be in the ER. I remember that I saw some flashbacks of me and a small girl. I had never seen her before, but the way she was looking at me, I could tell she was a friend. Maybe I was remembering another life. It was peaceful, and there was no feeling of pain. I wanted to stay there, to never wake up.

At some point, the flashback faded, and I was pulled into reality. I could barely open my eyes. There were people surrounding me. My mother, my grandmother, and my father. My oldest brother and sister were there too.

I felt a weight in my hand, and I looked to see my sister Kimberly holding my hand. I couldn't move my hand or my head, but I made a faint noise. Everyone's attention was on me. Lights and machines assailed my eyes and ears. I couldn't hear any of the voices that were talking, though it did seem that my parents were talking to me. I blinked hard, trying to moisten my dry eyes

After that, I don't remember much. Mom told me that the doctors told her that I had bled out and that I needed a blood transaction. My brother was the only person that matched my blood type, and he willingly gave what was needed.

I stayed in the hospital, and was slowly recovering, occasionally my wound opening and pouring blood. It was about two months in, and there was a rap on my door.

" Hello Exie," a nurse said, opening the door. "How are you feeling today?"

I looked over to her and smiled. "Tired and sore."

She laughed. "Good to hear. I have a guest that's here to meet you."

I was puzzled. My family and my close friends were really the only ones that came and visited, but never had a nurse told me that they were here. I nodded slowly.

"Who is it?"

The nurse motioned to someone. For a moment, no one came in, but then I saw him.

President Jonathan Pradlin was there