Emily Rowling: Age 8
My mother was cooking dinner. My father, out somewhere probably getting higher than God himself. I sat in the living room, the smell of potatoes and possibly chicken cooking filling my nose as I played with my raggedy Ann doll.
"Emily darling, come in. Dinner is ready." My mother called from the kitchen as I set my doll down, hopping off the couch to my spot in the dining room, where a plate of food sat, steaming and waiting to be eaten.
The chicken, like I had suspected, was perfectly cooked to be golden, with small burn marks on the skin. But that was my favorite part. I peeled off the skin from the chicken, my mouth drowning itself in saliva as I smiled, biting the skin from the chicken, hearing the faintest crunch as I bit down.
The taste coated my tongue, the rosemary seasoning on it making the chicken taste like it came straight from heaven itself. No one could even remotely compare their chicken to my mothers.
The meat itself was usually quite bland, but this time some of the seasoning had been spread into the meat, so it tasted just as good as the skin.
The mashed potatoes, well. They always taste the same. But better if you drown it in butter.
"Did you pray today, darlin'?" My mother asked as I nodded. We weren't ones to pray and thank God for the food, since we always did that in the morning, and we just found it annoying after sometime because we would always get hungry more as the scent of our food drifted up to our noses while we prayed.
"Good." She said quietly with a smile as she ate her green beans. That was when my father came bursting through the door, but this time, his scent was nothing more than vodka and beer.
With a hint of a gun in his hand.
"I'm home." He slurred, a fearful look in my mother's eyes. The wrinkle in her eyes when she had smiled faded quickly when my father pointed the gun at her.
He didn't even say anything. He just had a look of betrayal on his face. I was horrifically silent, a piercing scream coming from my throat as my father shot my own mother right in the head, killing her quickly.
Her face slammed into her plate, blood coating the wall and her food as I sobbed uncontrollably. Her own blood was on my face as my dad stared at my mother, a blank look across his face.
My father turned to me, an angered look on his face. "You two were worshipping the Devil!" He yelled, pointing the gun at me. I sobbed, shaking my head.
"No! We weren't father! Please I would never worship him!" I pleaded as my father shook his own head.
"You got no time for the Devil's call! You answer God's! And God's only!" My father yelled as I nodded, tears burning my cheeks.
He barely hesitated to look at me before he shot himself. I didn't know what to do. There was blood on my face and shirt. Blood on the walls, my parents.
I was crying for so long. So long. I had no words. I just watched my own father commit the worst sins.
Murder. And suicide.
There was no way God would let him into heaven now. He was such a good man, he loved me and my mother. Why would he do this to himself?
After I managed to stop crying, I slipped out of my chair, walking over to my mother. I removed a strand of hair that had fallen in her face, looking into her dead, grey eyes with sorrow.
I looked down at my father, a grimace crossing my face. How could I ever forgive him for doing something like this? Making me an orphan.
I just left the house, managing to find an old station, where a man and a boy sat. The brown haired boy had what looked like pie all over his face. I clutched my raggedy Ann doll as I stepped up to them.
The man turned to me, a confused and scared look on his face. "What happened, girl?" He asked as my eyes filled with tears once more.
"My father shot my mother... He.. he killed himself." I said as the man looked at the boy, a sad look crossing both of their faces, but the boy already had a sad look on his face.
"What's your name?" The boy asked as I blinked.
"Emily Rowling..." I answered as the man pulled out a chair for me to sit on.
"I'm Arvin Russell." The boy said as I gave him a weak smile.
"It's... Its nice to meet you Arvin." I said quietly as he nodded slowly.
"It's nice to meet you too, Emily."
"Why are you here, Arvin?" I asked as he looked down, fiddling with his thumbs.
"My daddy killed himself too. We buried my momma today." He said as I looked at my bare feet.
"I'm sorry." I said quietly as he shrugged. Their was a blinding light, and me as Arvin looked to see Sheriff Lee step out of his car.
"Hello there, Sheriff." The man said.
"Is that blood, boy?" Sheriff Lee said to Arvin, who shook his head. He then turned to me, and I slowly nodded.
The Sheriff sighed as more cops showed up. Some went to Arvin's house, while others went to mine. Me and Arvin waited in the Sheriffs car, sitting silently, waiting to be taken to a new place.
I stared at my doll, a questioning look on my face as I slowly turned to Arvin, handing him my doll.
"I know we don't know one another well. But since we've both been through the same thing tonight, and I'm sure we won't end up going to the same house together, I want you to have my doll. I know it's a girl thing, but I want you to have it, so you know I'll be there for you, even when I'm not actually there." I said with a faint smile.
Arvin blinked again me before he looked at the doll, a small smile crossing his lips as he slowly took the doll. "T-Thank you, Emily."
I didn't know it until 10 years later, but Arvin had kept that doll. In fact, he almost brought it everywhere he could, as it had apparently helped him calm down in his darkest times.
While he had been brought up to live in Cold Creek, West Virginia, I had been sent to a family who was unable to conceive a child in Cincinnati, Ohio.
For about a year since I came to live with my adoptive family, I had always thought about what would happen if I were to ever see Arvin again.
Would he remember me? Had he kept that doll? Thoughts like that.
And for so long, I believed I'd never see him again. But...
It's a small world.
YOU ARE READING
No Time For The Devil's Call (TDATT FanFiction)✔︎⚠︎︎
Mystery / Thriller"𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛." Emily Rowling was just another girl on the streets of Cincinnati. Nothing much had been known about her, other than she was a Christian girl who hadn't been to church since she was a child. ...
