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CHAPTER 1
Finally. I am finally adopted. The happiness of a new family, a loving family. It's amazing. My pale green room. The house itself, it is all perfect. One thing I really love about it is the backyard. Woods. Woods that I can run in for hours, and never get lost. The woods that I train in. And the woods where I met my best friend.
"Isabelle!" my foster mom, Joanne, who I call Jo, calls. "What?" I respond, with a tad bit of anger in my voice. "Time to go to the store. Come on!" "I don't want to go. Can I just stay here?" I hear her footsteps up the stairs. When she appears in my room, she seems annoyed. "You need to come to the store. So you can see the town, and become familiar with it," She says. "either come now, or we can just drive around tomorrow." "I'll go." I say.
I exit my room, and am reminded of my surroundings. The small hallway that hasn't foster parents, Jo and Tim's bedroom on one side, and Dylan, my foster brother, and Alex, my younger foster sister, their rooms on one side. I walk to the modern staircase, which fascinates me. It kind of floats in the air, like it isn't attached to the wall. When i get down stairs, I turn right, and go out the door. From the beautiful porch, i walk to the car and get in. When I look at the house from the car, it looks large. Too large. It's only Jo, Tim, Dylan and I, and the house looks as if I had 3 other siblings. I can see the tall trees in the distance, the forest behind our house. Then Jo comes in the car, starts it, and pulls out of the driveway.
I am 12 years old, almost 13, and my name is Isabelle Simmons. No one in this town knows me. I have a cat named Serus, who is a dark yellow, and one of the ugliest cats I have ever seen. I have a strange hobby, one that few people know how to do or have interest in. My hobby is the reason I am an orphan. My hobby is throwing knives.
I started throwing knives when I was 9. I took my real brothers set into a forest behind my old house, and started to throw. One month later, my brother passed away. I got his throwing knives. After that, every other day when I came home from school, I threw my knives. I became really good. I never missed. After that, I started to rely on myself. I didn't trust anyone. I still don't trust anyone. I also know hand-to-hand combat, so I knew that if anyone ever tried to attack me, I would know how to defend myself. That was when I knew I was a killing machine that could go crazy and day.
The reason I am an orphan, is because I did go crazy. My real dad passed away when I was 5. When I was throwing, I started thinking about all my angers. I thought of my anger that my mom gave me, by treating me unfair, and abusing me, and not caring about me. So when I went home, with a knife clutched in my hand, I started to tell my mom, and it eventually led to yelling. Then to fighting. I attempted to throw the knife at her, but was distracted by the anger and missed. After that, she took me to a mental hospital. I was 11 years old, almost 12.
I went crazy in the mental hospital. Every day after I ate I took a plastic knife in my room and practiced throwing. They would catch me, but I wouldn't care. After a while they had to lock me up in a padded room. I had to wear a strait jacket. After that, I totally went crazy. When they let me out of the room, I didn't sleep for days. I couldn't sleep. Then after about 3 weeks, I escaped.
To be continued.....
