The Power of Love

For most people depression is utter sadness and melancholy but for me it means turning into a mentally unbalanced lunatic.

4 months and 32 days ago my parents were killed in plane crash flying back from the state of sunshine, the one and only California. Who knew two simple deaths could spin my entire world upside down. I used to live in a beautiful, huge house off in the middle nowhere. 2470 Willow Avenue, North Devon was my address. I could remember running my fingers of the carved in letters on my mailbox when I lived there and I could remember the freedom I had. I started slipping into my own memories of family dinners and cool spring days in North Devon when a knock on the bedroom door tore me out of my thoughts. I didn't respond to the soft tapping on the door yet the lady still walked in. "How are you doing today Cassidy?" Mrs. Birmingham spoke cheerfully. Silence. "I brought your pills and some delicious vegetable soup," she gushed. I remained sitting on my white duvet as she strolled over to the quite large windows and yanked the flowing curtains open. Light poured into the room making my eyes burn. I stood up off my bed and wobbled over to the window. Looking out I saw children running around in the grass and blowing bubbles. Some of the older kids were reading books by the big crystal clear pond. It was honestly a picturesque view. Mrs. Birmingham walked behind me and helped me take off my giant tee shirt. "Arms up," she commanded and pulled the shirt over my head. She walked over the wooden wardrobe and pulled out a yellow sundress laying it over her shoulder. I walked closer to the window not caring if anybody stared at me in my bra and underwear. I didn't care about anything. She walked back up to me and started brushing the knots out of my long wavy blond hair, then helped me into my dress. "Cassidy I just wanted to remind you that we have volunteers coming in today and for the next month or so and another young girl will be assisting you." I nodded my head and walked over to my tray pretending to eat the awful soup as she scurried off to help the next crazy person in the asylum/clinic/thing wherever this place was. My room was beautiful. Yellow walls, big wooden bed with a clean white duvet, wooden furniture and a small button next the door that I could push for assistance. It was useless though, I didn't want any help or company from the employees here. They didn't really care about me, I meant nothing to anyone.

I walked out of my door and out the main entrance. No one ever had to worry about me running away. I had nowhere to go. It was peaceful outside and warm so I sat on the steps and opened a book of poetry I always kept with me. It had belonged to my mother. I was reading a poem called Butterflies when a shadow blocked the sunlight on my page. I looked up and saw a boy around 18 staring down at me with his eye brows furrowed in a stare at me. His bright green eyes connected with mine before he took a seat next to me on the steps. His mouth twitched into a shy grin as he said "Do you need any assistance? I'm supposed to walk around and help people who need help." I chuckled a little at the stupid assignment. "Oh so you're volunteering?" I laughed. "Yes is there something funny about that?" I shook my head and continued to laugh as I said, "Its just that who would want to volunteer at this hell hole?" He stared off and said, "It looks rather lovely here if you ask me." I smirked and stated, "A lovely hell hole and I'm stuck here when I could be discovering the world." He ignored that statement and said, "What's your name, love?" "I don't give out my name to strangers." I blurted out. He stood up and said "I'm Harry and I'll be seeing you around, stranger." He winked and with that he was gone.