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Hoc scriptum est inspirare,

this was written to inspire


"Go. Don't stop running." I said to myself. I didn't stop. I'd heard screams coming from outside my house. I jumped the last few steps, running outside yelling.

"Mum? Dad?" There was an echo of gun shots from down the road. They're dead; I knew it.

"Theyre not coming back," a deep voice said from behind me, I turned hoping to vent my grief as blinding rage but something stopped me. The flawless tan, the smooth face, and the most clear blue eyes. It was inhuman.

"What are you?" I asked forgeting my hatred until more echos finally reached my ears. "What have you done to my parents?"

"Shut it!" He yelled and for a breif moment anger took over his beauty; his skin took on a purple tint and his eyes narrowed like those of a cat, his teeth elongated into two large fangs.

"Theyre dead, and as far as you are concerned; safe"

It took me a while to understand what he'd ment, but then again I was only eight.

"You mean to say, I'm not safe?" Tears spilled on to my dirt covered cheeks. He came closer and began to stroke my hair. I know I should have been repulsed by such an act but I wasn't. I felt safe, like I belonged.

"Dont worry, my child. You won't remember a thing," he whispered in my ear; the last thing I heard before I forgot my life up to that day.

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