Bad Blood

Chapter 1 - How to Run from the mess you made

I almost laughed as I watched the rose-covered raven coffins lower deeper into their grave.

Biting down hard on the inside of my mouth provided no such comfort as I tried to suppress my laughter. Sooner or later I'd burst out, and then every single being on this planet will look down upon me in shame.

My stubby aunt tilted her head curiously in my direction from the other side of the hole, watching my eyes as if she expected a bigger reaction from me as my parent's coffin hit the bottom of their ditch. I pretended to wipe my eyes, and she seemed satisfied, tilting her head back up to the pastor.

"May the Lord look down upon you with sympathy." The pastor, who was in dying need of a haircut, and possibly a shave, raised his hand in a respectful cross-motion.

This time I couldn't stop myself. I snorted loudly, bringing down the attention of every single living being of my immediate family, whom all looked upon me with utter disgust. Well, except for my deaf as a bat, Great Gran who sat in her wheelchair, munching slowly on a roll she'd stolen from the funeral reception.

I blushed and lowered my head in what I hoped was shame, but it didn't faze some of my relatives. If only they understood.

I'd miss them, my parents. I was already missing them very much, but I wasn't sad that they'd passed.

You see, they weren't my parents.

They'd kidnapped me when I was three to sell me on the black market or something vaguely similar, but they'd backstabbed their bidder and earnt more money that week than the average school teacher made in a decade. But they'd had no plan to get rid of me. Well, they did, but my grandmother took one look at me and burst into joy thinking that her only daughter had finally started a family. So instead of killing some poor innocent toddler, they pretended that I was there own.

Which went well until two days ago. When I found out and told my friend Stephanie, whom it turned out was the daughter of some mafia lord or some crap. Apparently, he'd been looking for my 'parents' for a long time, and didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. They probably did something to piss him off, like stealing his extra-large family-sized box of Mcdonalds chicken McNuggets.

So they really had it coming, and silently I was glad. I didn't have to grieve my kidnappers, which would have taken a lot of effort since I hadn't ever like my 'parents' that much. Call me crazy, but if you were in my situation you'd understand.

"You have anything you'd like to say, Miss Davis?" The pastor asked me kindly.

I swallowed hard. Yeah, I really wanted to say something, but I knew I shouldn't. It would just cause an uproar, but then again it wasn't like I'd ever see any of these people ever again. They weren't my family anymore.

So I let my anger take over. "No, actually there isn't." I smiled sweetly as I rude fingered my entire extended, not family. All gasped in shock (expect Great Gran who was now trying to hit on the pastor), and recoiled disgusted.

I started to walk away but decided that lifting a finger wasn't enough. I tuned in the moist Nebraskan winter soil.

"Grandmother Francis, Grandad Peter, your daughter kidnapped me, Aunty Gretel I lied last Christmas, your pudding tasted like wet nappies, Uncle steven you were never cool, and cousin Earl get a life."

Feeling satisfied, I paused taking in their horrified expressions, and as soon as they started cursing me, I made a b-line for the blue honda parked outside the graveyard gates.

I walked up to Carol, my foster caretaker, who had her arms crossed but was smiling down at me, her sliver blue-dyed hair gleaming in the sunrise.

"That was the best entertainment I've had for a long time." She pulled out her keys. "You ready to go kid?"