Thorns of Our Past

Chapter one

I wake up with a shrilling scream, an effect to the nightmare I had just woken myself up from. There are tears running down my cheeks, I hadn't even known I was crying. Reaching for the string of my table lamp I look over to the clock, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I read the bright red numbers. 2:37 am. I wasn't surprised, this had been happening forever. If I ever got to sleep in the first place, I'd be jolted awake at ungodly hours due to the same nightmare. Though that wasn't all it was.

This particular nightmare was also a memory, a memory of the worst day of my life, the day my parents died. I was 17 when my parents were shot, it had been my fault. I had begged them to go with me to the beach, they had been so busy working lately I just wanted to spend some time with them. Selfish, that's what it was. Selfish and stupid.

I worked the afternoon shift at the surfboard rental shack; typical way for a teen to save up some money for a car or college. I had finally gotten them to agree to stop by after my shift ended at 5:45. The day was hell, constant problems and not to mention I had a splitting headache. There was a customer arguing with me over an expired coupon. Thinking back on it now I should have just given it to him, that was mistake number one. Mistake number two was asking him to "please leave before I call security." My parents called my name then; waving and smiling. I didn't see the man pull out the gun, I was too busy smiling back, holding up one finger to say I was just finishing up. It made me so much happier just to see them, I was finally going to spend some time with my parents again, It was going to be a good ending to a bad day. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late.

He shot them both in front of me, taking off as I screamed. I can still remember the last look they gave me before they dropped down, staining the sand underneath them a sickly crimson. Why them? I was the one he was angry with, why couldn't it have been me?

It should have been me.

I've re-lived that day every night since then. Wiping the fresh tears from my face, I walked down into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I never could manage to go back to sleep. Once I woke up, that was that. Most days however, I just never slept at all. Sometimes, I would be so upset I would refuse to rest, just so I didn't have to re-live the day in such vivid detail.

The alarm blasted through the empty house, pulling me from my thoughts. Having already graduated from High school and finished the required two years of community college I didn't have much to do. So, to fill up my time and save enough money to transfer into a university, I worked at the diner downtown. Aunt Isabella used to work there when she was my age. She had also passed, but peacefully in her sleep when I was very young. Even if I only started working here to get money for university, the place has grown on me. I think I'm going to be pretty sad when I have to leave.

I wanted to become a Forensic Toxicologist like my mother. She was so passionate about her job. She used to take me home little pamphlets or let me see what she was working on, She's what got me interested in it in the first place. Whenever I worried about my future she'd always have the same thing to tell me. "If you're doing something you love to do, you'll never work a day in your life." And my mother hadn't.

-

"Morning Jenny. How's the night life treating you?"

She just snorts in response, placing her hands on her hips. "Boring and lonely same as always, nothing exciting ever goes on around here." She takes off the ridiculous pink hat they make us wear and grabs her bag, calling to me as she walks out.

"Your turn A. Cash register needs more change."

Rolling my eyes I set my bag in the back and lean on the cashiers counter. Jenny works the night shift so when I get here she gets to go home. Sometimes I think that may be the only reason she tolerates me, because the majority of the time she acts like I'm something dead that got up and crawled out of the dumpster.