Jack of all Trades

The Prologue

So I guess I should start from the beginning.

I was around five years old when my parents died. And a small part of me died then too. The part that was innocent, sweet, little Silver who was clueless about the real world around her and was deliriously happy 24/7 disappeared that day.

It was December the 27th, just after Christmas, and I remember very clearly the frost that still coated all the windows and doors outside my old family home. I can still recall the freezing cold that bit into my bones that day and to be honest it still lingers whenever I think about it.

I had just started to fall asleep when my gut wrenched suddenly and had me leaping out of bed with my heart beating twenty times quicker than I thought was humanly possible.

"Mummy?" I called out as I wandered across the landing.

No response.

"Daddy?" I cried, my voice cracking as nerves wracked my brain and an overwhelming sense of unease swarmed over me.

"Hello!" I repeated, tears welling up in my eyes as the sense grew stronger and I started to open my parents' door.

I heard a sudden slam, coming from downstairs, and I jumped, the door closing slightly in front of me.

"Mummy is that you?" I yelled, questioning the loud sound from downstairs.

Again, I turned back to the door in front of me and the feeling cried at me that I should not open it. Ignoring it, I pushed open the door and seeing my parents sleeping figures, clambered over to the bed and pulled myself up with the covers onto it.

"Daddy!" I grumbled, shaking him with two hands.
Still no response.
I shrugged and lay down in between my two parents.

Something was very, very wrong.

Their bodies didn't rise or fall with the deep breaths of sleep.
Though still warm, there was a certain coldness to their hands.
And no breath fogged up around their mouths in the freezing winter air.

Of course, my five year old brain didn't realise this at the time and looking back I've always felt that if I'd realised sooner I could have done something. Could have saved them. Somehow. I know it would have been impossible. But I still dream. Or is it a nightmare.
Yet I lay there, cold as ice, and slowly fell asleep in my parents arms.

My dead parents arms.

When I awoke it felt wet. Sticky. I wondered if it was honey at the time. Nutella maybe. Idiotic I know. It's almost funny. Almost.

But as I rose from the bed I let out a strangled sob. Light streamed in from the windows and lit up the blood that pooled around me, soaking my parents and me in a dark red colour. The gruesomely slit throats shimmered with blood that was still fresh from a few hours before and their heads lay at an odd angle that just wasn't quite right.

I recall screaming the house down, so much that my neighbour came running to the house and upon seeing a five year old child drenched in blood and two dead bodies she immediately called the police.

I never saw my parents again. Never even allowed to attend their funeral.

Instead, I was taken to my aunt's, who lived in London, England and have lived there forever since.

Until now.

She didn't tell me anything about my parents. Said it was too "painful". Like I believe that bullshit! I was always quite suspicious that something was different about me.

We always moved, for a start. House after house, town after town. Hell I lived in America for two years until she said she felt "homesick" and said we should go back to England. I know that was a downright lie. I was just getting too attached to the house, the neighbourhood, the people. And so was she.

So we were always on the move. On the run I guess you could say. From what, I still don't know...