Zara Marcelline Smith was only 10 years old when she saw her parents murdered in cold blood.
She knows she is special, different than the other kids. Her parents died hiding her.
She is out for revenge or retribution either way people are going to die.
Zara grows up fast in order to avenge her parents but life gets in the way. Here is her story.
A story about finding love and embracing who you are with adventure and horror along the way


1. Blood Run


My heart thumps a feverish staccato pushing its bone cage. Run. A primitive part of my mind screams overriding any thought leaving an animalstic instinct behind. 

Flight or Fight.

I choose flight. My calves burn my throat raw every life giving gasp or air scratches my throat raw. 

The thump thump of heavy feet behind me give my body a last surge of strength propelling me forward anything to draw out my impeding brutal death.

I'm going to die. I do not want to die I'm only...

The ground rushes to meet me, why didn't I wear my black converse Oh God this is death and my last view of this earth will be my killer.

Rough hands close around an ankle dragging me back towards a darkened alley.

No I scream a whimper comes out of my mouth. My eyes scan franticly looking for a way out, anyone who can help me.

My nails are ruined scrambling to get a hold of anything something. I grab the edge of a bin. A strong pull pulls me backward.

My mind makes up its mind to fight and I kick out hoping against all hope I get lucky.

A yelp of outraged pain tells me I found my target. 

I crawl and limp run out of the alley crossing the street. Don't look back , Don't look back a religious mantra. It seems these are the only words I have ever known.

I looked back

A huge body knocks me down this is it I think. 

The man he gets off of my fear  the sick bastard. Fury washed over me pouring over me like a welcomed shower after an exhausting day.


I smile this is what I have been waiting for. The man frowns at my smile doubt in his eyes now the hunter becoming the hunted. I laugh hysterically aloud at that thought. God I'm tired.

I slit the man's  neck creating a bloody smile. Maybe I cut too deep and blood arcs a blood fountain. Drenched the man falls his face a comic mixture of shock and horror.

I clean my Gerber remix folding knife on his black guns and roses t shirt. I must have lost my favourite knife the Butterfly Paradox knife at least my Damascus Bowie is still firmly attached to my thigh

I have to look for it I kick the guy rigor mortis starting to set in

I smile a cold smile



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