Kiana Daniels
- Reads 62
- Votes 2
- Parts 2
Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Mon, Jan 22, 2018
My father has been thrown into prison and my mother has ran away. I was kidnapped as a baby but was found at the age of seventeen. I have no idea where I was or how I got out but I know something or someone was helping me.
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The Witnesses
FINISHED It was a dark winter's morning. My family and I went for a walk. I was five, now I'm fifteen. They say, "The longer someone's missing, the less likely they're coming back." This day, ten years ago my eight year old brother was standing right in front of me. Every time I come back here I can feel his presence. Like he's everywhere but nowhere. But every time the police question me, I tell them the same thing. "What I say is what they say, what I do is what they do and how I think is how they think." "Who are they?" The police ask me. I say, "... the witnesses."Complete
The vampires True Life
Me and my mom where happy. We where finally getting along and finally learned to live without my dad. He died doing what he does best. Being drunk. He got in a car crash from driving drunk. That was a year ago. But know my mom has fallen ill and no one knows what it is. She is dying every day and I don't think I can loose another person. So I decided to go to as many doctors as I can to figure out what it was. None could help me, until I finally found a doctor who could help her, but he wasn't a normal one, he didn't even have a diploma or even went to a good college. But he could help her still, manly since he was a vampire and all and what do vampires do. They bring drama wherever they go. Including me.Complete
Someone New ✓
"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboardComplete
Veronica's Story
I'm only 17 and got the weight on the world on my shoulders. I'm struggling to do good in school, keep a job, and find a place to live. I ain't got no parents, never knew my dad and my mama ain't shit. It's a hard situation for me. Don't know what the next hour will bring me. Scared that I'll walk into the wrong place at the wrong time. Well they say everything happens for a reason. Maybe something greater awaits me ? Excuse any errors !!!Complete
Facing Him
A couple years ago, my older brother and I saw something that we shouldn't have seen. Ever since then, we have been on the run from our father, constantly having to change our names, birth dates, eye colors and hair colors. We last found ourselves in California, we were able to settle down and make friends, and even get into relationships, but then he found us, and things got bad. This time, we're tired of running. This time we are going to stand our ground.Complete
Time To Die
Ok. So I'm a five foot tall midget, with neon green hair, enough tattoos and piercings to frighten any small child. I'm thirty eight going on twenty, and I hold down a semi professional career running an alternative nightclub in town. With enough health problems to sink a battleship I stand out like a sore thumb in any surroundings, so that poses the question... How exactly did I get away with murder?... More than once.Complete
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The Way We Used to Be
I lost my mom at 11, that's when it started. My dad became a drunk and I was left to take care of my 3-month-old baby sister. Now I'm 23, graduated a few years ago and my sister, now 12, can understand what happened. She never fully understood when I needed someone to and I didn't have many friends that stuck around afterwards. Until I met him. We were friends first, then the feelings got deeper. He asked me to be his girlfriend. He was my first kiss, first date, first real friend, first love, everything. I loved him and I do. I've said it. Now all we do is fight. I don't know why we can't figure things out, but I can't take this fighting. I just want things to go back to the way things were. The way we used to be... Happy, carefree teens that pretended we had the whole world figured out.Complete
Saving Her
"Alexia." Someone screams and soon I'm drenched in water. I gasp and sit up. My mom hugs me and I tensed. "Sorry." I whispered and relax. I was covered in sweat and water. It's almost been a year since I've been back home. I still have those terrors or should I say memories. That day has been scarred in my brain. I was only 7. I'm 17 now. But that memory has been haunting me for the past 3 days. My dad stood at the door watching silently. He gave me space and I loved how he cared enough to. Maybe it was the fact I had a panic attack once when he woke me. "Hi." I breath out. "Hey." He whispers. Long story short I was taken when I seven, a day after my birthday. I hadn't remember much about my family expected maybe my dad and two other boys who were, well are my brothers. But I've been in a cell obeying the rules of a monster for 10 years. It took a lot of therapy to just get me to say two words and stop hiding and running away 1 year of therapy to realize he can't hurt me now. "You can come in.." I say softly. He walks in and joins the hug. I sigh and lean into their touch. There's no doubt in my mind that I will be starting the sessions again.Complete
FINISHED It was a dark winter's morning. My family and I went for a walk. I was five, now I'm fifteen. They say, "The longer someone's missing, the less likely they're coming back." This day, ten years ago my eight year old brother was standing right in front of me. Every time I come back here I can feel his presence. Like he's everywhere but nowhere. But every time the police question me, I tell them the same thing. "What I say is what they say, what I do is what they do and how I think is how they think." "Who are they?" The police ask me. I say, "... the witnesses."
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