Strangers That I Know

I had a happy childhood when I was young. Or, so I thought. It had all started when I was poking about in my parents room. Ever since I could remember, it was always, "Never go into our room." I hadn't questioned that rule until a few months ago when I had ran out of tissues. When I look back to that day, I find it funny how a box of tissues flipped my life upside down.

My parents had gone to work like always, and I stayed home alone. I knew as soon as I opened the door to their room that I should have turned around, walked away, but my curiosity got the better of me. I mean, what could be in there that was so bad?

The strong oak door slowly creaked open, and I walked in. The room was dark, even with the light bulb on. So I walked over to the large window on the right side of the room and tore open the black drapes. When the light from the window shone on everything, it didn't actually look that bad. I mean, nothing looked forbidden. It just looked like a bedroom. Queen bed in the center of the room with matching pillows and sheets, two nightstands with matching lamps on top, and a large dresser on the far wall.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized that I was holding. I guess I had always just put their room on a high shelf. Never to be touched, only to be looked at and admired. As I turned to go to the adjoining bathroom they had in their room, I saw there was a box on their dresser. Just a simple box. I know I shouldn't have looked in in, but I had just broken past the first door into which I was forbidden, It was far too late to turn back now.

The box had a piece of tape on it that was old and tattered, with my name boldly scribbled on it in sharpie. Thinking it was simply old school assignments, I lifted off the lid without a hint of hesitation. I was so very wrong.

The box had old news articles in it, which I found odd. What really surprised me was the words in bold at the top of the page though, "Police Ask Public To Aid In The Case Of Missing Child Named Shae Ashton (Description Pg 2)"

Why would my parents be keeping track of a missing child? They had never, ever mentioned any other child before me. As far as I knew, I was their one and only child, or so I thought. Had they had a kid before me? "No," I said aloud to the silent room. If that was their child, we would have the same last name.

I flipped to page two to see the description of the child, only to find something completely, and utterly preposterous. It was a photo of a girl, about six or seven, with facial features warily similar to mine. The same colour hair, and the same deep blue eyes.

I almost dropped the page out of shock. Could it be me? Thinking back, I don't actually remember any memories for any time past ten or eleven years old. Desperate to confirm that the child wasn't me, I read the description hoping to find that that girl had an odd scar or birthmark that would prove that she and I were different. "Noticeable traits: has medium sized scar on her left hand thumb ranging from the bottom of her knuckle to the joint bone."

That hit like a tiger pouncing on its prey. The wind was knocked out of me, and I nearly fainted. I had looked at that very same scar on my thumb everyday for seventeen years and not thought a thing about it. Why would my paren... these people do this? Who had I been living with for the last ten years?

I then frantically looked through the rest of the articles. Their was six articles, each having separate years and dates. All the titles saying "Police Still Searching for Shae Ashton" or "New Information Concerning The Shae Ashton Case". Except for the last article, It was different. Dated three months ago, it read,"Parents of Shae Ashton Still Holding Out Hope As the Case Meets Its Tenth Anniversary"

There was a picture of them at the bottom of the page. They looked just like me. Dull brown wavy hair, same posture, same eyes. I looked deep into the eyes printed on the flimsy paper, it was then I was hit something I had never felt before. A mix between anger and fear. I threw the articles in the box, slammed the lid down, and ran out of the room. I ran straight to my bedroom and screamed into the empty air, "This can't be right. How could they do that!?"

I threw the picture I had on my wall of my so called parents and me on the ground so hard I broke both the glass and the frame. I sat there and stared at the glass, breathing heavy. When I looked down at my hands, I realized I was shaking fiercely. My knees then gave out and I fell to the floor with a thud, and then started to cry. The fact that I had been living with strangers for ten very long years hit me like a blow the the gut. I was so very alone, and so very scared. I cried until I fell asleep in a ball on the floor, and had strange emotion filled dreams;