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My life, my heart, and my soul are the only things that matter. Now they are all at risk.
Though my heart is still strong, yet it is failing me. Thinking this may be the last thing I will ever write in my life. My life is melting in my own hands.
Where I live now is not important. What matters is being found, and found alive.
Annie has always had a tough life. After her parents got divorced, Annie has never felt whole. But after a while, things take a turn for the worst. She is whisked away into a land of mystery and action. But on the way she finds true love and it starts to fill her barren heart. This short story is about a young girl, her adventure to find her way home, and about giving love a chance to enter your heart again.
“Bang!” The sound of yelling and thundering footsteps make me shoot out of my bed. I slip on my pink fluffy slippers and stumble to my mom’s room. Halfway there I stop in my tracks. My sleepy eyes limit my sight, but I manage to get a small glimpse.
My mom and dad got divorced about a year ago. My dad left my mom for a co-worker and was never seen again. My mom and I have been closer than ever before. But soon she started getting behind on bills and so she started to date Tim. He owns the shop Less-Mart on Fifth Avenue. Even though they aren’t “in love” like others, they get along pretty well.
After a couple weeks it got pretty ugly. At first it was just yelling and arguing. But soon I started to see bruises flowering all over Mom’s arms and legs. Mom was like my best friend, so every night I would cry while I tried to shut out my mom’s screams of pain.
The light from my mom’s bedroom soon became clearer as I rub my eyes. “Get away!” I hear my mom screams. I see a glint of a knife in Tim’s hand. I stumble down the hall, now at the doorway of my mom’s room. Tim swiftly turns to me as the floor board creeks. My mom lunges toward him to try and stop him.
I’m frozen in place. I see my mom’s blood-stained face stare at me. I feel my arm being wretched away. The thought of what might happen brings me to tears.
We head to the front door. Its wooden skeleton is almost white from the weather that it has endured. We head down the concrete steps. My cold feet drag behind my ragdoll body. The garden is covered in frost from the night. He drags me to the old blue pick-up truck and I’m shoved into the leather back seats. The scent of beer and tobacco welcome me. As I scrunch up my nose, he starts the car. He pulls out onto the highway. The last thing I see is the glistening yellow light of our porch, slowly fading into the blackness.
It is about 7 o’clock in the morning when we arrived at an old wooden house by the Florida coast. The cool ocean mist reaches my face instantly. The house has only two rooms and one bathroom. As we enter, I realize this was prepared. It is hidden and is definitely far from home.
That night I climb into my bed, the old springy mattress poking my back. Tim comes into the small room. His breath smells of liquor and cigarettes. “You be good now and don’t get out of this bed otherwise my shotgun will meet your head.” Tim threatened.
Throughout the night I kept waking up to the sound of hollering men and some CD mix. At about midnight he comes upstairs and yanks me out of bed. I’m introduced to his “friends” as his neighbor. Almost immediately they start to flirt. I try to find at least one normal guy to talk to, but all seem drunk enough to vomit. After about an hour, I sneak upstairs to go to bed, and this time no one wakes me up.
Throughout the weeks Tim would have random parties. Everyone was drunk on either or Corona or red wine. Since I have denied any conversation with anyone, they all seem to ignore me. The party that really gave me a chance to escape was the one at the pier.
Today was the day that I would get back home. Tim and I left around 6 o’clock. When we arrived at the pier, the Ferris wheel and roller coasters were lit up like rainbows. Soon we were heading toward a bar. But when the lady asked for ID, I wasn’t old enough. So I was ordered to stay by the docks. As I watch them disappear, I slowly walk to the exit. But guess who shows up, a friend of Tim’s is there guarding the exit like some social security dude. I quickly turn around and head back to the docks. I would yell for help, but I’m afraid Tim will shoot me; I just keep my mouth shut. I wander off to the end of the dock and dip my feet in the freezing water.
It has been about an hour and they are still not out. There are only about five people on the dock. There is one guy my age, but he is looking down at his feet. I stare at the mirror like water. Suddenly, I hear foot steps behind me. I whip head around to see Tim about to push me in. I scream, and quickly I’m up on my feet, pushing and shoving Tim around. I punch him in the face and a bruise covers his forehead. The deathly look is his makes my heart skip a beat. Swiftly, the teenage boy on the dock has now run over and joined the fight. Tim gives me a shove and I hit my head on the wooden dock. The last thing I remember is Tim splashing in the frigid water and seeing the boy turn around so I see his emerald eyes.
I did it without thinking. I couldn’t just let that drunken crazy guy just push the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in. I shut up my conscience and run toward the girl who just threw a solid punch at the guys face, making a lump appear the size of a baseball on his forehead. ”Wow,” I think to myself. But then he delivers a swift kick to the back of her knees. They buckle, and her head hits the dock. I run with all my might and give him a shove. He topples over like a bowling pin. “I’m so strong” I tell myself. Or maybe that guy is was just REALLY weak. He topples over like a ship sinking into dark water.
As I look to the girl I see she is unconscious. Her long chocolate hair is now flooded with dirt and blood and her angel lips motionless. Panicking, I huddle her limp body to my chest and sprint to the neon red exit sign. The wooden planks of the pier are ending, the lights fading. As the woods approach me, I see the house come into sight. My parents died about a year ago, so I now live alone. I always wonder how my life would be if it was normal. Maybe like Broadway movies or maybe just, well, simple. It would be nice to come home to a warm dinner and a soft bed, but life had different plans.
I take a brass key from my old denim jeans pocket. It fits into the rusty lock perfectly. Her body fits through the door way by a couple inches. I lay her onto my bed. As I walk away her eyes flutter open.
Chapter 4 –Annie
Walls, unfamiliar, dull and stained. My head throbs with pain. “Stupid wooden dock,” I whisper. The images are clearer and I soon see the boy with emerald eyes. His dusty blond hair covers his brow. “Hello,” I manage to say. He stands there motionless. “Hello, Where am I?” “My house,” he answers. “Could you be a little more descriptive?” “In the woods,” he says. I think, Oh wow you are really stupid! As I push my way through I look around. What a dump in going through my head. I see garage bags, moldy food and other crap are cluttered on the floor. I’m not even sure what it is. I reach to get out of the garbage pit, but his arm yanks me back. I fly onto the mattress. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was that strong,” he says, his cheeks pink with color. “No problem, I just love being injured!” I say sarcastically. Once again I’m thinking but afraid to ask. What is his problem? Never having a normal guy around, I can now easily spot out crazies. He is a little different though as he stares at me as if I’m a ghost. “Why are you staring at me?” I ask. “You remind me of someone,” he replies. Then he continues with questions. “Who was that guy? “Do you think he has a record?” I tell him he was my mom’s ex-boyfriend, Tim Johnson and tell him I’m going to find out if he has a record. “Do you have a computer?” He points to the corner and I see a small laptop.
I Google Tim Johnson and over a million results come up. I look for police reports. I find his report; it says that he was charged for murder and kidnaping. His mouth falls open as he looks over my shoulder. “So what is your name?” I say. ”Drew”, he says.
“So do you know if he is after kids?”
“I really don’t know,”
I then find a video chat that was recorded about an hour ago. I click it. The screen blinks and it says I need a password.
“I got it,” Drew reaches over my shoulder and types in some letters. “Ha, easy it was red wine must had been drunk when created.
I scan though the article of dialogue and the name Amy Watson is highlighted in blue. I click on the link. An address pops up.
“Guess where we are going Drew,”
“1460 Bale street Bluefield West Virginia,”
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This article has 4 comments.
Great work! Love the descriptive nature and use of metaphors!
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