His Everything

Chapter 1

Three years ago today, was the day my father went from a missing person, to dead.

Amazing how that can happen, isn't it? How one person can cross the line from life to death, in a matter of 24 hours.

That one second, he could be showing you the best spots to hide in the park, then the next be found dead in that exact same spot.

You never realize how precious life is, and how hard death can be, until you see it laying right in front of you, clawed and beaten, as the police ask you to identify the thing before you. That wasn't my father. He was a man of great strength. He taught me how to read and write, he wrapped me in a blanket of comfort every time I was around him. It is not possible, that one stray wolf or bear could completely obliterate the person he was. That person is not dead, he was not the man lying on the table before me in pieces.

That's why, after three years I mourn the most on the anniversary of his death.

Looking down at his grave, I still can't believe he's gone. I can't imagine how my mother moved on so fast, marrying that creep Patrick and bringing him into our home. I know she means well, and we are struggling and he has money, but it almost feels like a replacement. Like her heart is so far broken that she's just a ghost of what she used to be, and she believes this stranger can make her happy.

My little sister and I hate Patrick, or at least I think she does. She's only five, sometimes it's hard to tell if she really hates someone or she's just mad because they made her eat vegetables.

She was born two years before my father died, and has barely any memories of him, but sometimes when she hears she crying in my room she'll come in and tell me mommy said he's in a good place now. She's the only thing that's really holding me together. With my mother focused on obtaining financial support for our family, I'm the one making her dinners, and taking Sophie to school, packing her lunches. Losing a parent has forced me to grow up faster then I ever would have expected, but I'm happy to spend so much time with my little sis.

She is the spitting image of my father, we both are, but where I got my mother's hazel eyes, she got my fathers chocolate brown ones. Sometimes when I look at her, I see him looking back at me. Although this is true, I never take her to his grave. My mother says it's not a good idea, maybe when she's older.

But that doesn't stop me from going. Sometimes on my walk to school I stop by here, and sit and talk to him, or just stare at him tombstone.

In his grave I see old friends that cut ties with my family after we lost my father. Our friends we spent every holiday, and Saturday night with. My dads best friend, and his kids. My best friends slowly cut contact with my mother and I, only sending small cards on birthdays.

Placing a lone rose and a birthday card against the tombstone that labels my fathers grave, I kiss my fingers, and touch the top of the cold stone. His birthday was always his favorite holiday, after Christmas. I stare for a moment longer, then quickly shove my cold hands in my pockets, and start my long trek to school.

I silently wipe a tear off my cheek, knowing that if I cry anymore my mascara will soon follow, and that's not usually the look I'm going for my first day back at school. Winter break just ended, and walking a mile to and from school every day in the winter, is a very rainy and windy struggle. Although I'm 17, my mom refuses to let me get my drivers license, something about being too irresponsible or some shit like that.

When I arrive at school, the halls are already packed with people, all hustling to get to their next class. The sea of students doesn't surprise me. My school is huge, with upwards of 2,000 students. And out of all those people, I only have a couple friends.

My best friend, and sort of only friend Autumn is sick today, so I'm all alone. I sigh, take a deep breath, pull my hood over my head and shove my way to class. God, I hate it here.