Sweet raptured light, it ended that night. I was done and I snapped. I would have run away just myself, but I loved my sisters too much to leave them and I knew they'd get it worse if they were alone, so I had to do something. Suffice enough to say, I got the gun before she did. Would Mother have gone that far? I wasn't inclined to find out.
After that, we fled the house as I burned it to the ground. I was already bruised from a beating, but the fire had some blowback, so I was burned. The blisters healed but the scars remained, like pinkish blotches, a reminder of where we fled from and what I've done. Hard to believe that we were children then. I was 11, Ryuuko was 7, and Nui was about 41/2. Neither of my sisters know what really happened and I wanted so much to take it the grave.
Since then, we were perpetually on the run, three homeless little girls without any parents, hiding wherever we could stay. Alleyways, abandoned houses, hollows in trees, wherever—If it had shelter, we were going to stay there. Eventually, we did find housing with someone, an older girl named "Rei" but that didn't last for too long, as, eventually, all four of us were put on the streets. Social services came, taking Rei, but we fled, the three of us alone again. We could keep roaming until we were far enough away, finding our way to a family, where we've been ever since.
Neither of us three really had a mother's care. We got abuse at the least and neglect at the most but this woman was different. Her family didn't have so much but she still gave us something. She'd cook for us, keep us clean, do our hair, and tuck us in at night. She had a daughter around Ryuuko's age and Nui didn't really remember Mother. I don't think I got to know her name but we called her "Mama", though, I tended to call her "Miss".
I loved this woman, truly, but I was terrified. Terrified that she'd tell the authorities or that they'd track us down here. I was a child when I snapped but I doubt I could argue anything. I wanted so much to take this to the grave but the past has a funny way of coming back.
