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With every freak accident comes a story, usually tragic, and believe me, mine was, but this one could mean the end of the world as everyone knew it. Now, I never wanted to die, I had a good home life, there wasn't drug use or any form of abuse in my home, and even though I didn't get along with my mother all the time she cared about me. A lot. The story I'm about to tell could ruin lives, but if not for the ending of this story, it could end them.
My English teacher taught me that a good story is simply one that made you feel something, but this story doesn't have an antagonist. Then again, maybe there is an antagonist. Maybe it's the negative emotions, maybe it's all of us, or maybe I learned that we never truly blame ourselves for anything; I still don't blame myself, nor anybody else.
As much as I'm avoiding it, I need to tell this story. I need someone to know, that when it happens again, to put a stop to it.
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I've been on the run for three years. I'm not the first, but I certainly won't be the last. For as long as I can remember, I had been experimented on, drugged to the brink of insanity, and tortured by someone I thought was my family. Boy, was I wrong. This isn't one of those stories where I suddenly get a huge boost of courage and defeat the bad guys then live happily ever after. I don't believe in that stuff anymore. Instead, I was a coward, and ran for my life, for my freedom, because I was too afraid to stand and fight and risk losing control like the monster they had created me to be. I've been too many people, have moved too many times. Now, I wonder if I will finally be able to find a place to call home... I won't allow myself to be captured before I even have a chance at that. Because if do, I'm as good as dead. © Sweetslover8 ~August 26th, 2013 ***Please note that the following is a work of fiction. Any names, events or occurrences of any kind coinciding with real life are purely coincidental.***
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