𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐰𝐝𝐰

Prologue

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I wake up to another day by the beeping of my alarm clock. The week was over, but on days like these, I woke up early to get dressed and out of the house as soon as possible.

——

As you would expect, my life is kind of the basic sob story of a parent's passing and the widow's life withering away to the bottom of the bottle. My dad died earlier this year. Cancer decided to take its course. He fought. He fought hard. But we knew the end was coming. We just didn't know when.

Everything was as expected. Grief, more grief. Tears, and more tears. Mom had it the hardest. Trying to keep us afloat. She drown herself with the bills and work, then alcohol came into play. Coming home to her passed out on the couch became a regular thing. I had gotten used to fending for myself. I tried to help her. In the first few months I was there to keep her sane. I held her hair up while she hovered over the toilet throwing up the contents of her malnourished stomach. She didn't want me to see her like that, so she resorted to pushing me away by bottling up her emotions and yelling. Lots of yelling. Then neglect.

——

After getting dressed, looking decent, I walk slowly out of my room and down the steps to the kitchen. Once my bare feet hit the linoleum floor I look around for my mom. Careful not to wake the sleeping bear, I walk by the couch where her drunk self lies unconscious.

Shards of glass are scattered across the tiled floor, beer cans lined the countertop next to the makeshift bar my mom adores more than her only child. I walk on my tip-toes to the back door and gather my shoes and jacket. Reaching for the door to my temporary freedom, a blinding flash fills the room as well as smoke. My eyes go blurry as the smoke fills my vision, a coughing-fit erupts from my mouth as my lungs try to dispel the gaseous substance from my body. My instincts kick in and I gather my strength to turn the knob. But before I could, the door slams open from the outside, knocking me down to the ground. I groan as my hand comes into contact with the shards of glass covering the floor— though the pain becomes more bearable as adrenaline pulses through my veins. My vision still blurry, I make out figures filing through the door, carrying what seems to be guns.

What is this? Star Wars? An FBI raid? What the hell is happening?!

My mind fills with questions and my breathing becomes erratic. I think I am having a panic attack. I need to get out of here. I think to myself. But before I could even muster up the courage to make a move, one of the figures approaches me and leans down. The person takes out a syringe of some sort and jabs it into my neck. I cry out in pain as my body goes limp, my veins feeling as though they are on fire. As my vision fades to black, I hear a person say something.

Asset secure. Let's take her away boys. Get her on the bus.