Molly: Protector

The Beginning

I'm not sure why but I never seemed to get along with all the other children my age. I was never interested in running around and screaming for no good reason. I wasn't excited about school, even from a young age.

My parents, the Morgan's, were well known scientists so wherever I went people seemed to care about me more than the others. My parents were kind to me, they loved me. I was their precious little girl. I only smiled around them.

I had no brothers or sisters. I was an only child so I got showered with a lot of gifts.

"Are you ready for you excited for school today, honey?" She would always ask that silly question, as if she expected a different answer.

No.

The teachers would always give me a sad, pitiful look and try to engage me in activities but I wasn't interested. I didn't have much tolerance for silly things; unnecessary things. I stayed to myself and minded my own businesses.

Year after year I would sit and observe the other people around me. The other children my age who never seemed to mature, especially the boys.

He didn't leave me alone. Couldn't he see I wasn't interested in his little game. He kept flicking my twin tails. I just sat there and stared at him.

Leave me alone.

I felt an uncontrollable anger boil up inside me. I wasn't sure what it was; if it was good or bad. He continued with his antics.

Leave me alone.

The teachers saw what was going on and giggled in amusement.

"He's just playing," they said.

Playing?

I got up and moved away from him but he followed. I quickened my pace. Whatever this anger was it wasn't going away. Thank goodness my mother came for me soon after. Of course, he kept annoying me for the rest of the week. Each time he did the anger got worse and harder to control.

I didn't get it, why was this kid trying so hard to get my attention. The others who tried gave up before lunchtime and went back to their friends. I don't need any friends.

You would think that he would give up by the end of the week but he didn't. A week turned into two weeks then three. I couldn't even drink my juice box in peace. This darn boy.

One day, he went too far. He threatened to cut my hair if I didn't talk to him.

How dare he?

I continued to ignore him and walked away, like I always did. I must have been the only mature person in that entire sixth grade class. Cutting my hair? What did he think I was? A shrub that needed to be trimmed? My long, silky, wavy, black hair was not meant to be cut.

He took my juice box.

"Come on, play with me," he smirked waving the green handled scissors in front me. I said nothing. He threw the juice box on the floor and stepped on it. The anger was back.

I turned around and looked him dead in the eyes. He continued to tease. The teachers weren't looking I was about to hit him when I stopped and sighed.

"Oh? So you'll play with me then?" The boy asked.

I might as well entertain him, maybe I needed to loosen up a bit.

My mother of course was elated to see me playing with another child; so were the teachers. I guess I could consider him my friend. Unfortunately, I don't remember his name, just what he did.

We were just playing a game of tag, him and some of our classmates. It was just an innocent little game. We ran around in the little waiting area outside. It was after school. My mum was running a little late but I didn't mind because I had friends now. I was smiling, I was happy.

I was it, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, he was faster, a lot faster. I almost caught him when suddenly a sudden pain ran from the center of my back to my chest. A boy had hit me to the ground, I fell face first into the dirt. Everyone stopped. My friend offered to help me. I slowly picked myself off of the ground. My nose hurt a lot.

Idiot, why did he hit me?

I grabbed him by the neck suddenly and held him up. The tip of his converse barely grazing the ground. I didn't know where this anger came from, or this strength. It sort of felt...good. I tightened the grip and the boy begged me to let him go. The other children stared in horror. One of them ran of to call one of the teachers.

He started to squirm then suddenly, the little bastard kicked me in the eye. I dropped him, he stubbled to regain his balance. The pain, the pain was too great.

But he anger was greater.

I pounced on him and started beating him up, I wanted him to feel the pain he had caused me. I wanted him to feel the hatred. My heart started racing, the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Blow after blow, the warm red substance running from my left eye.

After I felt he had enough I got off of him. The other kids ran and screamed in horror, all except him. He just stared at me, he opened his mouth to say something but then things started to go black...

"Molly..." My name escaped his lips as my world seemed to disappear.

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She sat by her bedroom window with a box of matches in her hand. She had developed an addiction to the smell the match gave off when the flame was put out. She hadn't been back at that school for months now.

Striking another match she cast her eyes to the lush vegetation that was close to her house.

"That's a dangerous place," her mum would always say. Still the warning didn't stop her curious fever year old mind.

Her room was rather large. It was almost like her own office except with a king sized bed. She kept her bed neat and tidy. Her book shelf was cluttered. Her peach walls were decorated with her own little jottings of little discoveries that she would make from reading.

She blew out the match.

She wondered what was in the forest and what lived there. It was a strange place, at least that's what she was told.

Strange how?

It couldn't be any stranger than her, whatever she was.

Striking her fourth match for the day, she watched the flames dance. It was calming for her, somehow very therapeutic. Her eyes began to shut slowly, watching the flame stand still for awhile before dancing again.