Fly Away (Michael Jackson)

fourteen

I stepped out of the car and froze. I lifted my hands near my face, trying to understand why, how, and who would do this. The neighborhood isn't bad, everyone knows me, I don't get it. My eyes began to well up and mounds of tears sat on the waterline of my eyes, waiting to spill over. Michael went back to pay the driver and I walked inside, frightful of what I was going to see.

A quick sweep showed my house that was now in shambles. The life and soul of me has been ripped out. The tremendous pain in my heart hurt so bad, I could physically feel myself getting weaker. The walls had holes, my TV set was impaled by a tire iron, my appliances were ruined, all of my picture frames had been cracked and the pictures inside them burned or ripped. I sat on the floor and just let myself cry in the ruins of my home. The home that held my only solid memories of my parents. This was all I had left.

Michael walked in and gasped loudly. He ran around the house looking around and inspecting the damage. A minute later he ran back into the living room where I sat on the floor, facing the ground whilst quietly sobbing.

"Bonnie, I am so-"

"It's okay," I quietly said beneath my tears. I didn't even bother to lookup from the ground. It was the only clean and undamaged part of the house. It helped me pretend that my life was still normal.

Michael placed his hand over mine and clutched it. "We're going to find who did this and make them pay."

I slowly laid myself on the ground in fetal position and said, "What for? They can't pay for my childhood memories that I will never get back. Nostalgia will be non existent for me now."

He placed his head next to mine and said, "No one's getting away with this. You're going to get your justice."

"I don't want it." The frustration within my cries made Michael stop talking for a bit. He laid himself down next to me and held me on the floor. His arms completely wrapped around me, and his tight hug began to calm me down. Bringing me from sobs to sniffles within minutes. Eventually, I stopped crying and was able to muffle out of my dry mouth, "Why this house? Why my home? What did I do?"

He squeezed me slightly tighter and said, "We'll know soon enough, Bonnie. Don't you worry."

I released myself from his grip and sat up, "This is all I had left of Mom and Dad. Our home, our pictures, our videos; they're gone. Even if this monster gave me a million dollars or spent a million years in jail; none of that would fill the void in my heart right now. I feel so alone, I feel as though the bond I held with my parents has been destroyed. You know?" As I began talking about how I felt, I began to cry again. But I kept it together enough to speak out comprehensible sentences.

Michael nodded and sighed as he looked around at the mess. "So what do you want to do?"

"Take whatever's left and get out of here. I can't stand to be here any longer, Michael." I wiped away another waterfall of tears from my cheeks and stood up to collect what things I could salvage.

Michael helped me up and held my suitcase as I threw my clothes and spared pictures into it. My clothes survived the turmoil, but only 5 pictures survived. They were hidden under my mattress; I kept them there for safe keeping. They were snapshots of me and my parents, me and Michael, and me as a child just enjoying life. My most cherished luckily. With all I had left, I zipped up my suitcase over my bed and rested my arms and head on it after laying myself on my bed.