Fallen

Chapter Seven

~7~

            There were so many secrets that I had no idea about. I never would have suspected that the society is falling apart; aren’t we supposed to be preventing that from happening again?

            My mother. My small fragile mother. She was so thoughtful and optimistic even when she knew she was going to die. She is and always will be a hero to me.

            My father. My brave and courageous father. Even though I have never met him I feel as though I really know him. He probably feels the same about me. This thought reminds me of what I have to do. I must find him no matter what.

            I run to my room across the hall and grab the black backpack I use for school. I empty out all of the books and paper I have it in and lay it all on my bed. Then, I shove the envelope into the front pocket. Quickly, not wanting to waste any time, I run toward our kitchen and open our refrigerator. I open up the backpack and fill it with non-perishable food that will last me at least one and a half weeks.

            While I’m already in here I decide to go ahead and do what I have always wanted to do. I take a knife out of the kitchen drawer and look down at my Pod. If someone found out that I was doing this then I would be in big trouble. That would have scared me yesterday, but not today. I bring the knife close to the leather band that holds the Pod on my arm and slice it; it drops on the floor.

            I run back to my room and place the broken Pod on my bed. If someone is tracking me, they will hopefully assume I am sleeping. Then I reach under my mattress and grab the emergency pocket knife that everyone is given at the age of twelve; I put that in my bag as well.

            I walk over to my closet and search for some books.  I grab them and put them in my backpack: a book full of famous poems, the sign language book, four good novels I got from the library, and a book full of beautiful pictures and paintings.

            Satisfied with everything I packed, I walk out of my room and to the front door. The door is still open where I assume the murderer came in and ran out. A tear begins but I quickly brush it away. I step out of the doorway with my head high. I turn back around with the intent to shut the door and pause when it finally hits me: I might never see my house again; I might get lost or killed. For a second I contemplate whether or not I should go back inside, call someone to get my mom, and live a normal life.

            But my life isn’t normal.

            I step forward, grab the doorknob, and pull it toward me.