So many of you have been asking what happened to us (like childhood,events etc.) So we are going to start with Elmo's.
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- At 5 years old.
Blood trickled down my face as I huddled against a corner of my bedroom, tears flooding. A soft feminine scream came from the living room. Out of curiosity, I pulled my bruised body up and followed the screaming, slowly looking through the small gap of the door that led from the hallway to the living room.
The owner of the scream was now shaking; black and blue circled one eye and a swollen lip. Her once beautiful pale skin was now scratched and torn.
A man stood above her with a snarl and a fist ready to strike when he glanced at me, fury in his gaze.
I ran as fast as my legs would let me, going up the stairs with a demon following closely behind. I reached the landing. I thought I was free, but then a hand clasped around my ankle, and with a huff, I was in the air.
The demon was yelling harsh words as he beat me, making me cry harder. My mom, the woman who had screamed earlier yelled for him to stop.
He stopped for a second before swooping me up, and in a flash, I was down the stairs, the world disapearing and pain, strong pain, circling me.
My vision went black.
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*Afterwards, the beating got worse each day. Eventually, the man turned his actions around and lost the demon inside him. He started becoming more of a dad and a husband.*
- 6 years old. (Christmas day)
For once, I smiled. A real smile. Today was the happiest day of the year. My mom got her big promotion. My dad, well...he made up for what he gave us: the best thing anyone ever asked for, he gave us the best dad in the whole entire world.
The clock on the wall read 4:00am. My parents always got up at 4:30, no matter what, so instead, I pulled myself out of bed and went downstairs. I sat in front of the tree we had set up, and I made sure the presents were at the front. I had spent hours making both since I wanted each to be special. I even got Mrs. Finley to help out.
It was 4:30am, and they still hadn't come down. Curosity took over the excitment, and I went into their room to discover blood. On the walls, on the floor, on the bed, on the bodies; my mother, a deathly white color, and my father... A gun...lay in his hand. He was the same; his once tanner skin now pale. Two bullet holes: one in his head the other in her neck.
Before I could even begin to process what was happening, I was being dragged out by men in uniform. Soft and gentle glances were thrown at my shocked and frozen body. One uniformed man in particular kept using sympathy to calm me down, but I didn't want sympathy...I wanted them.
*A few months later*
I found out my mom was pregnant, and it would have been a boy. My brother. My dad, well, it was all just an act to fool us all. It worked; he took out his gun and ended three lives. Himself, the greatest woman on earth, and the new life that could have been great.
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I've been to 17 families since. The ones before didn't like me, abandoned me, were killed, or just naturally died. My favorite in particular was a gay couple. I was with them the longest. They were like the closest things I had to an actual family, but then the call came. I was only 8 years old at the time. I was in the boys bathroom at school, crying.
Why? Two boys had beat me up, called me names, told me I was never wanted, and I took that all in.
I was found by a teacher, who pulled me into the office. Turns out the gay couple were in a car crash. Did they make it? No.
