This is, perhaps, a catch up on my last few years. Two years ago, the rest of this diary had been cruelly burned down, along with everything I had in life.
1768, the perfectly same date as today, that pig-faced bastard Lavinia Lyte (that only gives a care about herself, her money, her power, and how she may seem to others. The world may disappear for all she cares. As long as she feels satisfied.) had bribed a clueless British soldier to make a foolish report that my family, which at that time as powerful as Lavinia's, was plotting a revolution against those scrummy British. We were neutralists who disliked fighting in general, and yet the naive British troops marched in. It was a total massacre-trained and armed soldiers killed my mother, two sisters, maids, butlers, workers, the enslaved. (The enslaved were not very much like slaves, for my family had let them free and paid them money for working around the house-they voluntarily work so that they would not suspected of escaping and causing an uproar.) My father had run off as soon as he'd heard of them. My 9 year old self could not do anything but watch from inside the cabinet with an opening.
I can recall the next few moments like the first sentences of my favorite books. At the cost of my eye, I reached for a gun that a soldier had on his waist and fired it at him with such haste. I hadn't even known how to work those things, and yet the bullet shot through his head, perfectly between his eyes. I don't remember well from there. I was about to run off, and yet when I saw the bodies of my beloved family sprawled across the floor, my vision was raging in red. With panic, and not thinking of the consequences, I killed 4 more unexpecting soldiers when I could've just ran.
My wanted poster's been up ever since-as the child who killed 5 soldiers for "no reason." This event has come to be known as the Night of the Hellchild. As soon as the British found out they were in the wrong, they really didn't do anything to make up for it. Nobody had seen me when I ran out-well, except for this one brunette boy. I won't ever see him ever anyway.
My eye was a trouble at first. It wouldn't stop bleeding. I couldn't think of any medicine homes that would help me at this point without getting suspicious. I decided to go to the witches den that I had once heard about. I had no other choice. It didn't look at all shady or like there was witchcraft. I don't remember much about this part-I think I got hazy and fainted. All I remember was that I met a girl that was healing me. Alora was an apprentice of the apothecary, and she is even now the only one who knows of my identity or my real name. I lived with her for 3 months-until I was steady enough to get my own job. She also gave me an eyepatch that I still treasure dearly. In addition, she was the only human I talked to in a span of 2 years.
And that's all, really. That's all. I have no idea what to do with my life at the moment. All I know is that I'd someday kill Lavinia-along with that entire rotten excuse of a nation; Great Britain.
YOU ARE READING
Miracles
Historical Fiction"You are my miracle." A story of Laura Gilsworth, a so-called "serial-killer" with a bounty on her head, as she fights for the freedom of her country. "You are the Hellchild." Romance, Historical genre A short story based on the book "Johnny Tr...
