Take me home

Prologue

June 1, 2013

She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her black leather jacket as she looked at the picture pasted on the wall. Under the dim light of the little bulb hanging from the ceiling, the picture looked bright and shiny, unlike the rest of the room. With her eyes focused on the photo, she balled her hands into tight fists inside her pockets. Rage burnt inside of her. The room was still and dark. As she stood there, staring wrathfully at the picture on the wall, memories came flooding into her mind. Memories she wanted to forget, but found hard to let go. Memories she loathed and spit on. Memories that turned her into one with the devil's heart. She could still remember it all. It had been eight years, but she still remembered it like it was yesterday.

She backed away from the light, slowly fading away into the darkness. The room filled with the soft noise of her boots thudding on the floor. She sat on a wooden rocking-chair, still lost in the thoughts of her terrible past. It was a horrifying movie that she literally lived in. She could hear her heart beat loudly inside her chest. It was hammering unimaginably hard that she found exertion in breathing. It hurt. Everything hurt. Everything was excessively painful. Everything was just too horrendous.

What was she to do? All she had faced was hatred, anger and rejection. All she had known was to hate, to never love. All she had been taught was to follow actions of others, and she did. Not intentionally. Not willingly. She knew she had not done anything wrong. They had always wanted to get rid of her. All it took was one, little mistake and she was gone. Sent away. Never to return. Was she willing to leave everything behind and let them win, just like that? No. She had to come back. They had to pay for their mistakes. They had to realize that everything they had done to her was wrong. That it was not her who made the mistake. That it was them, and she was going to help them rectify their faults. She looked at the clock stuck to the wall, right above the picture. Half past ten. "When that clock strikes exactly twelve..." She said softly, her voice coming out almost as a whisper. "...they're going to pay."