Earth is Dying

Chapter 1

Earth isn't working for me anymore...I don't know what made it stop working for me, but I think it was a mix of my parent's death, and the government forcing me to live in this pathetic foster home. Before I lived here, well before my parents died, I had everything I could ever ask for. I had my own bedroom, and peace and quiet, something you don't ever get from sharing a room with 20 other kids. I had a best friend, who I got to see every day at school, who cried in my arms after my parents died. That's another thing I lost, was him. Not only did the government force me to live in an orphanage, but they also ripped away the only other thing that felt like home to me... my best friend. Miles and I had known each other since kindergarten, and when I talked to him, even at 5, I could tell that we were going to be best friends for life, we never ran out of things to talk about. He was way more outgoing than I was, tall, and athletic, and we were complete opposites but that's what made us attracted to each other. When I made it to high school, he was still my best friend, but things were different between us. He was into football, a star running back, with a stampede of pretty girls chasing after him. He never liked any of them, as far as I was concerned, but for some reason I was still jealous at how he was able to attract people. I've always been an introvert, more into reading romance books, writing poetry, and occasionally going to the local café to study by myself or get myself a Frappuccino. I never had anyone except for him, my mom, and my dad, but now I have no one.

When I first got to the orphanage, I held onto hope that Miles wouldn't forget about me, and he'd still want to be my friend, even a whole state apart. I wrote him a letter every day for 2 years, and he never responded so after a while I gave up. I don't know why he never responded, but then again after my parents were shot right in front of us, he didn't really say much. I was fifteen when it happened, and I still remember that day like it was yesterday. I had just finished getting ready for school, and I was looking at myself in the mirror mentally preparing myself for all of the work I would have to do that day. Never in my worst nightmare would I have imagined that would be the last time I would ever see that mirror again, or that it would be the last time I would go to school.

I didn't want to go to school that day, I never did, but now I would do anything to go to school again, to be frustrated over how much homework I have, or to have all of the problems I used to like getting a bad grade which I thought was the end of the world. That was nothing compared to what I've had to go through now. Heck, if I was able to go relive my life before I was sent here, I would never get mad at my mom for punishing me, I would do the dishes every single day, I would change everything about myself, and the way I treated people, the way I contributed to this world. I would be a whole new person. I would be a whole new Layla.

Miles was a few months older than me, and he was trustworthy most of the time, so my dad liked him and let him take me to school in the mornings. He drove a Ford-F150 that he paid for himself by working at the local Italian resturaunt. It was a tough model, that had a matte white-painted exterior, and black leather seats. He kept it neat, which is surprising for a 16-year-old boy to do, but then again, Miles wasn't a normal 16-year-old. He was running late the day my parents got shot to pick me up which was unlike him. He usually kept his promises, especially because he knew my dad would kill him if I was late to first period and he didn't want to get his privileges of driving me taken away. I was his source of navigation, and without me he wouldn't survive with how recklessly he drives. I always got onto his nerves, but it was for his own good. Without me complaining, he would've crashed the car at least a dozen times, or gotten lost on the way so it was concerning that he was late to pick me up. Miles knew that he needed me, he needed me to think when he couldn't, and he was my voice. Now he's my voice with no answer. Dad was acting different that morning, and so was mom. You could see the aging lines on his face as he paced the room with panic. He was usually attractive for his age, and I know that's a weird thing to say about your dad, but I mean he genuinely looked good. He had light brown eyes, and they almost never had dark circles around them. He looked restless, anxious, and definitely not happy.

"He better be here soon, Mori, otherwise you're walking to school," he said, his hands running through his hair, looking impatiently at mom.

She matched the worried expression on his face, but she was better at hiding it. She was the opposite of my dad as far as facial features go, she rarely smiled, and she never was one to show too much emotion. I got her green eyes; they were stone cold and emotionless. She tried to muster out a smile, which helped my dad to stop his pacing,

"What is going on with you two?! You're acting like the world is going to end just because Miles is late,"

They looked at each other and froze for a moment, like they had a secret, and they were wondering if they should keep hiding it from me. Before they could answer I heard the most gut-wrenching noise I 've ever heard in my life. The scrawny lock on our front door didn't hold as the men ran in. The men that took everything from me. The men that killed my parents. There wasn't much time to react between when they entered the house and when they started firing.