WANTED (On hiatus until further notice!)

My Mother's Death

 First Story Ever......Any mistakes? Please comment. Thanks!

COPYRIGHT © 2014 Alicez19

Copyright: All rights reserved. Any name, character, incident, setting, or event are only products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual event, locales or person, dead or alive, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1:

     Well, here I am, traveling from state to state, running from the clutches of my parents’ murderers with my infant daughter whose father ditched us and a bell hop with a dirty little secret…                                             

     It all started at age nine. I was swinging back and forth on the tire swing connected to an old oak tree near the back of my house.  My mother likes to take me under the tree, singing songs and describing my dad. She would tell me that this tree was very special, only she did not speak why.  Mother was very similar in appearances to me. We both have long black hair, full lips and dimples. She has laugh lines and her blue eyes would light up when she was happy. I wished my brown eyes would light up too.

     My dad was an FBI agent. He was caught and killed seeking enemy information when I was just five. My mom told me how she found out about his death and went to his funeral while bawling her eyes out. Her eyes always lit up when she talked about my dad yet they seemed so sad and lonely.  I didn’t remember him much, yet I’ve seen pictures of him and my mom on their honeymoon in Paris, the city of love. He was light skinned like me and had dazzling brown eyes too.

     It was a beautiful day. The breeze in the air, the water splashing in the lake, and the birds chirping. I lived in a beautiful bright yellow house near the edge of Ohio with my mother. There was a large marble fountain in our garden and a lakeside view. There was also a huge hedge that made up the left side of our backyard. Mother and Father bought it before I was born. I loved the lake and the sound of its gentle waves. It would put me to sleep in an instinct.

     Then, as the feeling in the air turned cold, I heard pans and pots clatter on the floor as my mother screamed. I climbed to the upper part of the Great Oak and hid in the leaves of its upper branches. Then I watched, through the kitchen window, in horror as my mom’s dead body dropped to the wooden floor. Noise kept coming out of my house like they were searching for valuables. “There’s nothing valuable in our house, maybe they’ll leave,” I thought, relieved.

       Just then, two men covered in dark clothes came out carrying buckets of gas. They dumped it all over my house while a third man came out, toke out a lighter from his black leather jacket, ignited it, and chucked it at my house. Within three seconds, the whole house was on fire. The beautiful yellow paint on the house that my mom and dad painted when they bought the house turned into horrible black ashes and the air turned into smoke. The murderers came out of the house with a high and cruel laugh. Just then, one of them saw my yellow dress in the green tree and pointed at me. They came closer and saw me as easy prey. I felt myself going closer to the trunk as the murderers advanced on me. All of the sudden, sirens rang and the killers climbed off the tree and jumped over the hedge.

      As I climbed out of the tree, many firefighters and policemen were yelling orders at each other. With all the commotion, many reporters came and investigated for their new story. Everyone was relieved to find me alive, as I could tell by their expression yet they rushed me over to a police car, which required   pushing through crowds of reporters, and floored it, no questions asked. That was the last time I saw my house and mom.

    The drive there took forever. By the time I reached the place, it was already night time. I was taken to a room with a chair and a table and was told to wait. It was boring after staring at the dark gray wall for awhile so I started playing with my long black hair and put it in a fishtail braid, just as mother taught me.

    Just then, an interrogator came in and locked the door behind me. He was buff and terrifying.

   “What is your name, missy?” he asked without hesitation.

   “Vanessa Comenta,” I answered.

   “Your birthday?”

   “May 19,2000,” I responded with cautiousness.

  “And what’s your parents’ name?”

  “Makara and Jason Comenta,” I answered with pride. Just then, a tall man in a police suit came in.

  “Thank you; now follow him to get to your new home,” my interrogator instructed.

   I was put in government care form that day on. Months and years went by. I was moved every month or so to a new home in a new state like California or North Dakota. It is now May 5, 2018. I am currently in New York City. I’m supposed to be moved to Florida in five days’ time. Today will be the day I escape and today will be the start of my freedom.