The Beginning of the End
Sixteen years. It has been sixteen years since I last saw my father, and even now, the burning image of his death continues to linger in the back of my mind. I twist the heart-shaped locket between my ragged bitten nails. Was it my fault? Had I prayed to God any harder, maybe someone would have heard my desperate plea for his life. That was the biggest lie I've ever told myself. No one was listening to us or watching over us as we struggled to survive. As for my mother, well, I have no idea where she is. Last I had heard of her; were only rumors of a raven-haired woman appearing with a locket similar to mine asking for some shelter somewhere near Boston, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, I've always been one or two steps behind her. All I know is that she's been busy.
