It was the year 2000 and I was just happily sitting watching TV when I heard my mum yell, "Go. Get away!". Then came the thud and the continuous banging of items or people tumbling down the stairs. Next was the click of a trigger being set, then the loud booming of the gun that killed my family.
I am still yet to know why they left in such a hurry and why my parents had no love in their entire body.
This story focuses on a young boy called Seven. It's about his life. He was called Seven because he was Seven when his family died, in the order of oldest to youngest at his care home he was seventh. In every race and every competition he entered, he always came seventh. No one knows his real name. That's the one secret his parents promised to take to their grave that never got broken. His own name was a secret to even him self. His birth certificate burnt and he owed no passport.
Seven was alone until on his 13th birthday a man came along to the care home and promised to take care of Seven forever, but as most promises do, it got broken. The man abused Seven and made him feel like a small helpless child and it wasn't until he was 15 the sound of the gun once again returned.