My name is Amelia. I was born on July 14, 1993. Today is my 20th birthday. 10 years ago I lost everything; My Mother, My Father, My sister and Brother, My dog, My friends, and the stray cat who I used to sneak food too in my backyard every night. I lost my friends, Joey, Emma, and Brad. Everyone who seems to get close to me always seems to die. But why? Why am I any different from the old lady across the street? Why am I different from the little girl swinging on the swing set with her father pushing her from behind, why am I any different from everyone else. The answer is still undefined.
There is a fine breaking point between civil, and maniac. I am in between. After loosing everyone I know I have come to realize that there was a reason they all died. Somewhere, somehow I need to find the answers. I just don’t know how. That is why I am writing this letter, I heard you are the one with all the answers… So answer me…
Where do I start for the answers?
-Amelia Goldhearth
I press the tips of the enveloped to my lips, licking across the part that tastes the worst. Carefully writing the address on the front of it.
1188 Ballentrae Avenue,
New york, New York
Today is the day I start looking for answers. All my life I have been running from place to place, afraid that if I stayed in one place for too long the people around me would wind up wounded, or worse, dead. I slip the enveloped into the mail box and begin walking down the road, the neighborhood is quiet. The most you would hear is a dog barking in the distance. The reason? This neighborhood… my neighborhood is bad. Every so often you would hear a gunshot and then sirens. Then all would be silent once more. I’m not worried about dying, I stopped being afraid when I was a kid- when I realized that everybody that I loved died and that the last person who was always standing was me. Amelia. A petite girl with brown hair that was dead straight. A girl with green eyes which used to shine bright with laughter but now were dull from ongoing years of pain.
I kick a piece of gravel with the toe of my shoe, biting the inside of my cheek. I keep walking until I get to my house, okay, so it isn’t much like a house. It’s a 2 story, skinny ass apartment in between 2 other houses. It has everything I need to survive though, a fridge, stove, toilet, shower, sink, and a bed. Unlocking the door, I look behind me, making sure that everything was safe before entering. You could never be too careful in this neighborhood. As soon as I step inside the threshold my cell phone rings, loud and obnoxious in my ear.
“Hello…?” I answer, cautisouly.
“Amelia Goldhearth?” The voice replies. It sounds like a males voice, raspy and low.
“This is she. How may I help you?”
“Brad. Joey. Emma.”
My breath catches in my throat and my heart feels as if it could burst out of my chest at any moment. Those names were the names of my best friends who- I was told- died in a mass shooting while they were at the local mall.
“I… Who is this?” my words seem to tumble out of my mouth.
“Brad.” Before I have time to react the voice continues. “Amelia… it’s me. We didn’t actually die. That story… it was a cover story. Look, we are all still alive. At least for now… I know it has been a long time but you just need to hear me out. You need to know that this is…”
“Stop! My friends died in a shooting. I was at their funeral! I saw the casket!”
“The bodies were never found… and want to know why? It’s because we have our bodies!” He was starting to sound desperate, his voice coming out frantically. “Amy-cat. That was the nickname I gave to you. Just... Please believe me. If you are able to find us you will find the answers that you need. I am not allowed to say anything else. They are coming for us….”
“Hey! Who are you on the phone with?! We told you what would happen if you tried to…” And then the line was cut dead. I slide down my door and crash to the floor. My mind can’t seem to understand what just happened. My friends, my friends from 10 years ago are still alive… they’ve been alive all along. I check the number on the phone, quickly writing it down on a scrap piece of paper.
If those were truly my friends then I needed to find them, and quick.
