Living in a Junkyard

1. The Owl Necklace

I woke up to the sound of a dog barking, sighing. The dog constantly howled at night, preventing me from sleep. It would go on barking for hours. Then, all of the sudden, it would stop. It's been doing that for about a month now.

I remembered it when we found the dog just a few months ago, scampering into my mother's arms. It was just what my mother needed after the incident. The dog gave her joy. She took care of it, giving her strips of her own small portion of food. Somehow, it managed to survive, when we could barely do it ourselves. My mother named it Ginny, for her love of Harry Potter. I never really liked dogs, I was more of a cat person. We clearly disliked each other. It would bark at me everytime I passed it. Secretly, I was glad it came to our lives, though, because it was the thing that made my mom stop crying every night. It cheered my mom up, when I couldn't do it myself.

The dog was a queer little thing. It had brown fur but its feet were white, making it look like it wore socks. It had one ear up and one ear down, and her face was a tid bit wrinkly, almost resembling a pug. It seemed to become our guard dog, on watch for any intruders, even though there were never any. All it did was occasionally bark to a innocent bystander a couple blocks away.

I peered over my shoulder, not surprised that my mother was still in deep sleep. Unlike her, I was never much of a heavy sleeper. Slowly, I was got out of my sorry excuse for a bed and stared at the junkyard.

This was my home for eight years. Ever since I was six, I slept in the same place: a rusty, blue car.I used to live somewhere else, someplace else. I used to live in a house, a big one too.

But that all changed on December 25th, Christmas. I could only remember pieces of that day. My young self woke up with a big grin on my face on Christmas morning. I was thinking about the conversation I had the night before, on Christmas Eve. The day before the 'incident' that changed it all.

"Wow, this is such a pretty necklace. I like the big, gold owl on it. I can't believe I got this for Christmas!" I stare at my present, excited to brag about it to all of my friends.

"Owls symbolize wisdom in Greek culture," my father had said. "This owl foreshadows that you will grow up to be very smart."

"What about the diamond on it, daddy?"

"Diamonds represent beauty, Ashlee. With possession of the diamond, you will become a beautiful young lady."

I smiled at that statement. "So I'll be pretty like mommy, right?"

"Of course, my child. You'll always be my smart, pretty girl."

"Pinkie promise?"

"Pinkie promise." He chuckled, linking his gigantic pinkie with my small one.

"Thank you so much! I love you daddy," I stated, enthusiastically.

A tear rolled down my face as I finished reminiscing. I fingered the same owl necklace in my memories, my most prized possession and the most expensive I had ever owned. Funny thing that while the Greeks believed owls represented wisdom, the Romans thought owls were a bad omen, foreshadowing bad events to come. The Romans were right though, something horrible did happen in the following twenty four hours. Something that would change my life forever.

I never understood why I kept this necklace for all those years. I had severed all connections with my father on Christmas night, yet one connection was not completely cut off. This owl necklace.

It reminded me of him constantly. Whenever I looked down, I would see it and think of that Christmas Eve.

Just then, I noticed a noise. It wasn't the usual bark of the dog, or howl of the wind. It sounded like a person talking, or in this case cursing. I listened carefully, no longer thinking about the pendant.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." I cocked my head toward the noise. It was barely distinguishable, yet I heard a deep voice.

I scanned the junkyard, trying to identify the owner of the voice. My determination appeared, persistent to find the person.

"Who's there?" I called out, making the person suddenly scamper away.

My determination became replaced by fear. No one had set foot in this junkyard for decades. If someone found me, they would put me in a foster home. After all, I lived in a junkyard. I could imagine it already.

"You live here?"

"A fourteen year old living in a junk yard? Why, this is not a safe place to live. Your mother cannot take care of you under these circumstances."

"We will find you another place to live immediately."

I would be whisked away, never to see my mother again. All I could recall would be her face, with tears running down.

I snapped out of it. Mother always told me I jumped to conclusions too quickly. If the person was actually social security, what would they be doing at this time of day? Why would they run away? It didn't make sense, and I was too exhausted to think about it.

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Author's Note:

Here's my first story on Wattpad! Hope you enjoyed it. Please vote, comment, follow me, or whatever floats your boat.

I know it was a bit creepy that the father kept calling Ashlee 'his child' but I just felt like it would be something he would say...