Taming the Wild

Chapter 1

this is one of my longer stories that I am currently writing, my teachers like it and so do my parents, i hope you all like it (: i have been told on many accounts im a talented writer so let me know what you think!

Stepping out of the airport, I walk to the truck while my uncle, the last relative who wants me, walks beside me. He is carrying the one bag I have, my only belongings. As I glance through the window and see the family portrait, I am pulled into the painful memories. Everything just rushes towards me at once. I see their faces, the weapons, the blood, all the images, everything about those painful memories. A tear rolls down my cheek as I am dragged back to those two terrible nights.

11 years ago

I sit huddled under the desk in the far corner, hidden by the shadows. Footsteps pound against the floorboards and the door creaks open. I can hear the heavy breathing of my mother as she stumbles into the room and collapses on the floor. I stare at her intently when I notice her hand is placed on her side and there is a dark patch around her hand.

As I crawl towards her, her face darkens with alarm at the footsteps pounding against the floor; they are coming in our direction. My mother does not see me as the door is pushed back and bangs against the wall. I stare at the black figure standing in the doorway with a glinting object in his hand.

Gathering my knees against my chest, I watch as my mother backs against her bed. They do not look my way; they ignore me completely. The stranger in the doorway raises the glinting object, a gun, and points it at my mother.

My mother and I both have barely any time to scream before he pulls the trigger and the bullet is sent straight through my mom’s heart. She is dead within seconds and he shoots her again, and again, and again. It takes everything I have not to scream out and cry as I watch the stranger retreat out of the room and down the stairs.

Once the man is gone, I gather my strength and crawl over to the limp, lifeless body on the floor. Tears stream down my cheeks as my pants are covered in my mother’s blood. A puddle is surrounding me and slowly making its way towards the door.

I cry and scream as my mother’s body is pale and limp in my arms. At the mere age of five, I saw my mother, a sweet, innocent person, being murdered in front of me. The brown eye shadow she was wearing that day is still on her eyelids; her face is still as beautiful as ever even though it is now pale. I take in every inch of her to remember.

I sit there for a day before the police come rushing up the stairs and into the room. Their faces are pure horror as they see me, a five-year-old covered in blood, and holding her dead mother in her arms. I stare up through tear soaked eyelashes as they look around at the blood-covered room.

10 Years after My Mother’s Murder

It’s ten years tomorrow since my mom was murdered, and a week after my 15th birthday. I am walking down the road to celebrate my belated birthday with my dad. He was gone for my birthday, so we are celebrating today. We are just leaving the restaurant and walking a few blocks home when it happens; my worst nightmare happens.

The man just comes out of nowhere and pushes my dad into an alleyway. He is dressed all in black and his face is covered in a black balaclava. He does not notice me at all standing on the sidewalk watching in horror.

He pulls a gun out of his pocket and points it right at my dad’s chest, completely ignoring me. Pulling the trigger, I scream and my dad falls to the ground. The guy turns around and runs, leaving us in the alleyway. He does not look my way as he runs past me, he does not turn to look back; he just runs.

Tears are streaming down my face as I run to my father’s limp body. Blood is seeping through my clothes and is slowly staining my skin. I hold his body to mine as I weep uncontrollably, for the second time in my childhood. Both my parents are gone, and I watched both of them murdered.

Present Day

That is the last thing I remember as my Uncle Marley starts the truck and pulls onto the road. My family has shipped me off from one family member to another; no one wants me, and apparently, I am a ‘problem child’. They have all told me I was useless, unworthy, and I should have been killed instead of my parents. My family hates me. The only person who wants me is uncle Marley. He is determined to turn my life around.

“You’ll like it here,” he tells me as he pulls off the road and onto a long, dirty driveway.

“Yeah, sure,” I mumble crossing my arms over my chest.

“You’re staying in the guest room, it’s easy to find. I have some stuff for you in there already,” Uncle Marley states as he turns the truck off and climbs out.

Grabbing my bag, my one bag, I walk into the small house he owns, and kick off my shoes. The smell of manure and dirt fills my nostrils and I almost gag from the smell. I do not want to be here, I do not want to be anywhere. I already know I am going to hate it here, just like everywhere else I have been. It would not surprise me if uncle Marley got angry with me and kicked me out, just like everyone else.

Kicking open the guest room door, I see a chestnut brown bed sitting against the far wall beside a window. The cover on the bed has horses and cowboy boots on it, making me want to vomit. A small side table is on the left of the bed, with a lamp and clock on it. Across from that is a matching dresser with a pair of brown cowboy boots and a beige cowboy hat on top of it.

I place my bag on the bed and automatically grab for the picture of my mom, dad and me, taken a few months before my mom was murdered. Taking it out of my bag, I hold onto it and just stare at it before placing it on the bedside table beside the clock. I place the rest of my belongings around my new room before closing the curtains over the window and throwing myself onto the bed. I bury my head into the pillow and shut my eyes as I listen to the noise going on outside.