I whimper loudly as I kick away the sheets. "No... I don't want to do it..." I murmur, burrying my head in my knees. It's been exactly nine years now, but things never change, do they? I always still think back to that day, and it gives me nightmares. I sniff silently into my pillow, hugging my duvet as I did so.

I should introduce myself first. I don't know why, but I feel that I should. My name is Rowan Demsley, once Rowan Taylor, and I am 17 years old. My birthday is on the 9th of March. My parents were murdered- my dad by being shot in the head, and my mum by being pushed into a sharp metal bit which pierced her neck, and led to death.

My mum, Daquice(pronounced Da-Keys), was being held in captive by psychopaths. Then one day, they decided to push her towards a piece of metal sticking out of the wall, which stabbed her in the throat, and presumably killed her. The way my dad died was much, much more horrible, as far as I know. And I know very far, for I was there.

We were at home watching the telly, then someone broke in. That man tied my dad onto a chair, then put a gun in my hand. He forced me to shoot my dad, or he would stab me. Being the kind, selfless man he always was, my dad begged me to shoot him, in hope to preserve my vulnerable little life. I had no control whatsoever over what I was doing then, and a sharp blade of a knife was being held at my throat, what could I do? Well, I could've shot the man. But being the naive young girl was, I shot my dad.

It didn't just hurt to that, it killed me.(not literally tho) A part of my heart didn't shatter, it just... disappeared into mid air. I still remember the horror of it- it stung my eyes like there were wasps there, though I didn't cry, for I couldn't. So what if I did cry. That wouldn't bring my dad back to life. Even if I shot the man, that wouldn't make a difference either. My dad always wanted me to be strong- so I did. I didn't cry at that time, I didn't shoot the man, for my father would not have been proud of that. I just walked up to him, sat on his lap, took his hand and stroked it, biting back my tears.

The man left, taking the gun. I didn't cry at dad's funeral- for there wasn't one, and I couldn't. For since the day I shot my dad, I just couldn't cry. Til this day, no tears have ever came out. Basically, I never cry. Though I still have feelings.

Since both my parents died, my neighbours, Uzi and Zoanna, have took me in. They made a little ceromony for my parents, as they were best friends. But I ran away, through a hole in the fence. I ran as far as I could, ending up at the park. A nice lady in a white dress came up to me and asked if I was lost. I said yes, which resulted in her taking me to her apartment.

It turned out that she was very poor, and could hardly afford anything for either of us, but she spent most of the money on me, being the lovely woman she was. Her name was Sophie Monet, and her career was a waitress, working from 6am to about 7pm. She earns €200 a week, which adds up only €800 a month.

Despite her low pay, Sophie did everything to please me, although I didn't ask for much. Our normal meals were half the size of regular dishes, let alone that cost more than her budget. She brought me to school, and I was bullied, but she tried her best to clean an d heal my wounds and cuts. Though that is all in the past now.

I love Sophie so, so much. And although she isn't my mum, she is the closest thing to it.

A/n:
How did you like it? The second chap won't be posted anytime soon, this is just a sample-ish thing

(=^・ω・^=)