Saving Cassandra

Remember

I can't remember it. Life with my parents. I mean, I think that they were good people. But I don't remember their faces or voices. The last thing I can remember is the crash. The crash that started the flashes. The crash that left me alone.

The crash that killed my parents.

I was fifteen. It was a late December night, chilly and unforgiving. The sky looked almost ebony. Grandma's house had been warm and cozy, so the air felt uncomfortably frigid. We got into our car and started driving down the highway. The time was 11:38.

I had my headphones in playing Detroit Rock City. I was in the back seat and falling asleep.

That's when I looked through the window.

I saw him. Well, I kind of saw him. I couldn't see his face or his clothes. But I saw his figure. I saw his license plate. 120ps5. And then, I saw him speed up next to the car. And forcefully turn the wheel.

Crash.

I heard them crash through the windshield. Glass shattered all over me and I screamed in pain. My seatbelt kept me in the car as it rolled and rolled. Finally, it stopped. I climbed out as soon as I could, biting my lip so I wouldn't cry. My legs and face were bleeding. Slowly, I leave.

I don't talk to the police. They told me not to trust any authority. I don't talk to anyone. That day marked the day that I was on my own. On the streets. I haven't seen anyone in my family since that night. It was the one moment I never had a flash of. I trudged my way into the nearest alley and started picking glass out if my skin.

After that I stayed on the streets. I learned how to protect myself and fight. I never stayed in one place too long.

Finally, I made a friend. He hired me in his music shop and helped me buy a home.

He was killed a year ago.

Now I run the shop. Fake name, fake identity.

Fake me.

But I always feel like the shadowy figure is watching me and following me.

My name is Cassandra Scott.

And my power must be kept safe.