i never liked going to school. i always got picked on because i never talked. normally i could just sit at the back of the class and not say anything,but ever since Sasha, the schools "queen" started picking on me,i have a much harder time. i used to have my best friend, Harry, to stand up for me. he knew why i didn't talk, and he would always stick up for me to anyone who made fun of me, but now he was world famous. he's in that band One Direction, surely you've heard of them. he was always away and i barely ever saw him anymore. he was the only person i would talk to.
my teachers gave up on trying to get me to talk. they just left me alone and i got on with my studies. i would go home and write everything that i was thinking in my journal. it helped me express what i was feeling. instead of saying what i was feeling, i would write it. i used to have nightmares about the fire, ever since it happened. luckily that stopped happening when i was ten, four years after it happened.
i remember it like it was yesterday. harry and i were walking back too my house after school, when we saw smoke rising up somewhere in the distance. we heard sirens and people yelling and i got scared. i remember harry held my hand the whole time, and i could remember seeing the lifeless body of my older sister as they carried her out, burnt and covered in cuts and scars. they never found my younger brother, he was lost somewhere among the ashes. i remember crying and trying to run into the house, and the firemen holding me back and telling me too wait with Mrs.Coulter. Mrs. Coulter was in charge of foster children and she drove me away before they found my brother and parents. there was nothing left of my house but a pile of ashes.
Mrs.Coulter brought me to my foster home with Mr and Mrs Shift. i chaged my last name to theirs because i didn't want to think about that horrible day just from someone saying my last name. my real last name is shift. i didn't speak a word the whole car ride to their house, i don't even think either of them know what my voice sounds like. they still treat me like their own daughter even though they know what i've been through.
harry was the only person i talked to. after school for the next few years we'd run into my new backyard and up into the treehouse and I'd spill, tell him everything that I'd been thinking. how stupid my new parents were, and how stupid Mrs Daphne,our third grade teacher,looked with her hair sticking straight up. I'd tell him anything and everything.
then when we were sophomores he auditioned for the X-Factor. he got through, and i barely saw him again. i had no one to talk to. i had no one to tell what i was thinking. that was when i got my journal and started writing down everything i was thinking. i never noticed it, but when i was angry i would write darker and when i was sad i would write very lightly.
my emotions were all in that one book, just written.
