1. The Life I Left Behind

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Enslaved till death: Chapter 1

The screeching tyres, the rolling thuds and my Mom's final scream. As I regained consciousness I sat up and realized I was in bed, shivering and breathing abnormally like I was re-experiencing that day for the thousandth time. It was Sunday midday and we had just watched the Christmas Parade and had a sit in lunch at a small diner. The snow had started falling a couple weeks prior, and for our return trip home Mom and Dad had decided to take a different route home that they said was beautiful around that time of the year. The hills looked like mountains and the trees looked majestic like they were swaying snowmen in the breeze. But that would be the day that would haunt me forever. We'd made it to the top of this enormous hill where the clouds seemed to float around us. Three or four cars were parked up and some were brave enough to capture a photo in the cold windy weather.  As we began to descend down the hill swerving left then right, left then right down the hill I realized the falling snow had really begun to pick up when Dad had to switch the window wipers up to keep up with the fall of the snow.

Without noticing Dad must've hit some black ice on the third corner and the next thing I know I'm in the backseat trying to hold onto the seat lying down while the car spins out of control hitting through the corner barricade. Gasping I tried to concentrate on holding onto the seat belt and the seat cushion. I could now  hear both Mom and Dad scream as the car begins to flip, rolling five...maybe six times before hitting frontwards into a large fur tree. My head was throbbing with pain, and then I realized something was wrong when everything around me was quiet. Unbuckling my belt I leant through my parents seats to check to see if they were all OK. I gently shock my Mom's, then my Dad's arm to wake up, come on Mom, please Dad please open your eyes. My Mom was a nurse and had shown me how to check for a pulse, so I tried that too. Nothing. I remember screaming, yelling out for help in hope that someone might hear me. The only luck I had that day was that the cars with people had stopped when they'd heard my pleas for help.

 A cool splash of water from the basin on the other side of my small room helped to ease the trauma built up over the past four and a half years. I'd been living in a home for girls ever since the accident. I'd started off in a bunk room with three other girls my age, and had to talk to a psychiatrist every week. My nightmares of that day continued, but have become bearable now. I was moved to my own room  because I would wake up crying and screaming in my sleep. I did find it a little isolating from the others, but I knew I was doing them a favor sleeping in my own room. The room used to be a spare sickbay room with its own sink and mirror which I did like. But I missed everything from my life, my room, my comfy bed, my house and most importantly my Mom and Dad.

In a few days I'd be 19 and would be leaving the girls home to go flatting and to start my shifts at my new job baking food for a cafe downtown. That's one thing I'd be proud of myself leaving the girls home for orphans was that I'd learned how to cook and bake, taking a huge liking for it straight away. It was the only thing that really kept me going. To know I was being acknowledged and needed in some way.

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