Something to wear, something to read, something to eat, something you need.

That was all he left me with.

At the time it didn't seem so important, but at the same time, nothing did. How could it? My parents were dead, my house was destroyed, and my best friend was missing. I had no one and nowhere to go to, so most days I would spend my time at the park or the cafe downtown.

Often at the park I would see children fighting over silly little things and to my surprise it would make me feel better, as I never did care for sweet, bubbly things. The people who walked around smiling happily about whatever came their way, oh they were the worst! They must have something to be angry or sad about right? Or maybe I was just the only one with those feelings... Though sometimes that's the way it felt to me, that I was the only one who got mad and upset or frustrated, lonely. It seemed as if the sun was just shining bright on every part of the world but mine.

But what reasons did I have to be happy? My father, my amazing, charming, Godly father, died when I was three years old, leaving me with my poor mom. To be honest, she was never really fit to be a mother. About the only thing good she did for me was love my dad beyond imagine, so when he died that left her with nothing and I was pretty much raising myself.

Soon came along Rick, my stepfather. I absolutely hated him. Yes, hate, such a strong word, but the feeling was understandable once you discovered the abhorrent way he treated me. I'd come home from school to a strike on the cheek for not notifying him that I was on my way home. I'd get my hair pulled or arm smacked for forgetting to put away the dishes or shut the bathroom door when I was done or even leaving the TV remote on the couch...literally ANYTHING to get me in trouble, and my mom didn't seem to care one bit. She enjoyed it even. Things got so out of hand for a while that one evening I just ran away. I had to get away from him, so I ran to the only place I knew I was accepted: Dawn's house.

Dawn was my best friend and had been since kindergarten. We were as close as two people can get. Possibly closer. It was a rare sight to see us two apart. She was just like me in every way possible, and we did everything together. I mean EVERYTHING! Well, before she went missing, that is.

Dawn and I were at one of her friend's end-of-the-school-year parties when it happened. We were dancing to our favorite song which was blasting from the speakers when this random guy I had never met before starts grinding on me. I assumed the he must have been drunk, and that proved to be true for when I yelled and pushed him off of me he just looked at me liked I'd insulted his grandma or something, cursed very obnoxiously, then huffed away swaying and nearly falling with each step he took.

I turned back to Dawn, but she wasn't there. I never saw her again.

And that's when things really started racing downhill.

I came home late that night after searching everywhere for Dawn with no luck, to find my house on fire. Panic flooded through my whole body, and even more so when I noticed my mom's car still in the driveway meaning she was in there. She was in that burning house and I couldn't just let her die in there. No matter how much hate I had stored up for her, she was still my mom and I loved her.

I attempted to take a step forward, but my feet were glued to the ground. That one part of me that kept me alive came yelling big and loud inside of me. I'm about to go into a fire. I'm crazy. But then the crazy side, the outgoing, feisty side came back out and convinced me to do it.

Yep, I'm crazy. Deal with it.

I speed walked my way to my to the front door which was slightly cracked. I took a peek inside, the immense heat burning my face. Here we go!
I pushed the door open slowly and what I saw... Absolutely indescribable. My stepfather Rick was standing in the center of our living room, the couch and tables had been moved to the walls. Orange flames surrounded him, making his contorted, ugly face look even meaner and scarier than ever. But the thing that caught my eyes the most was the shotgun he held in his hands...

Pointed at my mom.

I screamed and shoved the door open with my body. "WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?!?"

He didn't answer, just growled at me. My mom looked at me, tears pouring down her scorched face immediately causing my own eyes to water. She was tied up to one of our barstools, a black handkerchief around her mouth.

"Mom..."

"I'm sorry, baby." She mumbled through the handkerchief softly to me, her voice strained like it hurt her to talk. I wanted to run up and hug her, but that's when Rick finally decided to speak up.

"Don't talk to her." He hissed at me, stepping closer to my mom as I yelled for him to stop.

"Stop? Why should I, sweet cheeks?" His eyes were red and he seemed to be standing a little lopsided, swaying slightly. He's drunk, of course.

"My name is Casey," I snapped through gritted teeth. "And because that's my mom! You touch her and I'll take that gun right out of your hands and shoot you with it!"

"Oh, feisty little punkin', aren't ya!"

"I told you, MY NAME IS CASEY! NOW SHUT UP YOU BIG TURD AND LET MY MOM GO OR I'LL CALL THE COPS!"

Rick ran over to me, gun still pointed at my mom, and smacked my cheek with his rough, bloody hand. I yelled in pain and fell to the floor. "NOW SHUT IP, WILL YA?"

A flaming board fell from the ceiling onto my arm. The pain was unbearable as the fire burned the flesh of my forearm. I pulled with all of my strength to get my arm out, only causing myself more torturous pain.

I could hear my mom yelling something and my step dad laughing, but I couldn't tell what was going on as smoke and tears had blurred my vision. All of a sudden everything went dim. I heard a scream and then a gunshot.

Rick had killed my mom.

That's when I changed for good.