Bucket list

Chapter 1 The Garden

Isabella
Ten years ago...
I placed my ear behind the wall of my parent's room hoping to be able to hear what they were saying.

"If it makes you cry, it still matters love. Please don't do this we have a family." My father spoke disappointedly.

"I'm sorry, I can't live knowing what I know, and that's why I'm done, when I'm gone tell them what she needs to know." My mother whispered before I heard a gunshot.

"Noo!!!" I heard my dad yell; pain was inflicted in his voice. Soon after I heard sobbing.

At this point my mind was blown with curiosity and fear, I needed to go see what had happened, but before I could I heard the door of their room click, signifying that it was now locked.

I banged on the door crying and begging for answers. After ten minutes of just knocking and getting no reply, I sighed tiredly before walking to my room with my eyes burning.

I didn't know what was coming next, I didn't know what to do. As an eight-year-old child, I ran up to my room and dug my face into the mattress of my bed, then cried for the next few hours. When I lifted my face from the mattress, I saw the big stain of water it now had, as I had been crying in it for hours. Every time I was sad, I went to that same spot and put my face there.

I didn't know what had happened, yet I was crying and making a scene about something I didn't know.

Did a thief break in?
Did my dad accidentally fired his gun and he got pissed?
Did my mom lose her keys and shot the wall?
So many possibilities, but I wasn't even close to finding out. Hours and hours passed yet my dad was still locked in the room. He did not make a single sound throughout the whole time.

With every second I got more and more worried. I grabbed a sheet of blank paper and some colouring pencils.
Well, that is kind of what any eight-year-old would probably do right? Make things right! When I finish colouring this it will look awesome and dad will be happy again!! I spent the next what seemed to be three hours colouring away and when I was done I felt more proud than ever of myself.

I took the paper downstairs and shoved it under the gap between the door and the carpet.

"Dad, mom, just please feel better. I brought you something, papa."

I waited for a response from him but got nothing. "Daddy? Mommy?" I asked again innocently. "Someone please answer!!!" I yelled and knocked as hard as I could.

This time I heard sobbing and seeing my parents sad always made me sad too.

Days passed and I felt sadder and sadder, I had no idea how to do anything on my own so I stank for the next few days. All I had been eating were apples and cheese sticks. I soon started feeling sick so I ran to the medicine box and grabbed a thermometer.

I attempted to measure myself according to how I remembered what my mom used to do. She would always put it under my tongue and tell me to stay completely still. When I did it the thermometer read that I was fine so I let the matter go.

Every morning after that the first thing I did every morning was gone and slip a drawing under my dad's door. I loved drawing flowers, especially roses, the white ones were my favorites.

After a week and a half of doing the same thing over and over again, I felt hope start to fade. The hope of my dad coming out was fading and I had no idea what I would do.

I then realized I had the whole house to myself. I could do whatever I pleased if I had no adult to care for me. The first rule I decided to break was sliding down the stairs. I sat on the rail and slid down.