Chapter 1
"Do not lose your target. Concentrate. Relax your shoulders, they're too stiff," then he hit my shoulders with a stick so hard it stings, "feel the wind's direction then shoot. Now let's try that again"
"Ok Mr. Burnham. I'll keep that in mind," I said to him trying my best to focus on the swaying cans in front of me and ignoring the part where my shoulders burn from the hit.
That was Leaks Burnham my mentor. His real name is Robinson Burnham but I call him Leaks (but only in my mind) because of his fondness for leaks which occupies half of his greenhouse at the back of the house. But I call him Mr. Burnham because that's what he prefers I remember him saying, "Just call me Mr. Burnham because in that way I know you respect me after all I took you under my wing and i think i deserved at least that". Leaks have been my sole companion since he found me on the streets of Jersey twelve years ago. The day I witnessed the death of my mother in the hands of unknown, masked men. He was the one who took me home when I was alone and broken. The one who gave me shelter when I was lost, clothe me when I was cold and shivering, fed me when I feel hunger and thirst and most of all keeps me strong when i feel weak and lonely.
Leaks was the one who have been teaching me things i should know about like math, english, science. I also have the most unusual physical education because of lots of physical work-out and self-defense tutorials like boxing, different kinds of martial arts, archery, hunting and right now gun shooting. Also different languages like french, german, ruso, mandarin, niponggo, espanol and latin. Even dance and music. If schools have educational tours, Leaks and I have one too every week. He takes me to town five miles from our home whenever we need to buy something for the farm or when we need to sell some cheese, milk, eggs, meat and wool and to attend the Sunday Mass at St. Jude Chapel.
I know nothing about his life except that he lost his wife and child in a fire fifteen years ago which he believes wasn't an accident. He's a mystery to me. I have to badger him with questions for a full hour nonstop just to get that information out of him. This badgering wasn't left unpunished. I have to endure the coldness of the night outside the house to sleep. And believe me when I say that I have learned my lesson.
He's a dictator. He never showed me affection like a father would have to a daughter. He raised me not as a little girl who needs guidance and love but as a soldier who needs orders and commands from a superior. I remember what he told me that fateful day, "if you stay in my house, two things: first discipline. second: no crying. i hate to hear and see a girl cry." Since then i learned how to control my emotions, maintain a poker face whenever I fell hurt and missing my mommy and just basically grow up.
He raised me all by himself and that alone i am thankful for.
I did not go to a normal school like other kids. "School" for me is like a fairytale, a story. For me "normal" is living in a vast track of land with the view of the mountainous terrain covered with snow as white as the doves flying above it. Where sheeps, cows, chickens, goats and pigs as friends, which holds my attention every morning of every day.
Maybe you're wondering where my parents are. My dad I don't know. He left us when i was six years old or we left him i don't remember. What memory I have of him is that he always reads me bedtime stories whenever he's home earlier than usual. My mom, she died when we were in Jersey. I saw how they shot her in the head. It was traumatizing. I saw the whole thing happen to the one person I loved the most. To the one person who showed me unconditional love and taught me to be selfless. To the one person whom I am ready to be trading places with but was too young to think about it then.
But I am older and wiser now and it's time to use it to my advantage.
