Broken


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2. A tortured past

Artemis POV

 

As I walk down the abandoned, concrete road, I know that my decision of not dying will change my future, but not my past. Past. What a funny thing. It makes you, even if it's twisted and cruel. My past is worse than that.

Past

"Daddy, when are you going to come home? Mommy, Sierra, me and clementine miss you a lot." I said to my dad, the day after my ninth birthday. "Well honey, were going to win the war in a little bit, but they're letting me come home in a month. Can't you wait that long?" he asks, showing the smile I missed so much. "Yeah! As long as your home!" I say, smiling as we ended our video chat. The week my dad was supposed to come home, me and Sierra found my mom crying. "Mom? What's wrong?" Sierra asked, comforting her. I grabbed the letter on the table, horrified at what I was seeing. "No. This is a lie!" I say, running to my room. I quickly lock the door, sitting in the corner of my bed. "A-Artemis, c-can I-I come in?" Sierra says, knocking on the door. I quickly unlock it, and i see her eyes full of tears. "It's true then?" I ask, and she nods. "No! Daddy can't be gone! He said he would come home! That's not fair!" I cried, as my sister hugged me. My mom, after the funeral, was never the bright, same way she was before. But she still stood through the pain, and took care of us. That was what I admired most, not because she was there for us, but she was strong. "Me and mom are going to get some groceries, okay? Well be back in a bit, so watch clementine." Sierra said, four years later. They both left, and I never suspected they wouldn't be coming back. At least, not alive. Sometimes I can just picture what happened in my head, from the information the police and the paramedics told me. They were probably listening to music, Sierra driving, when a drunk driver swerved onto the lane, crashing head first into them. Sometimes I think they died, a scream stuck in their throat. The drunk driver, who I later knew was Richard micro, died in the crash along with his wife, Vicky. But their son survived, and sometimes I think the kid might have had a worse life than me. At least I had clementine. After the crash, I was informed that me and clementine would have to live in a orphanage. After a week of screaming, we ran away. Living on the streets was better than that. But of course, the world can never cut me and my family some slack. After two weeks, my sister got bored and decided to play outside. She got to play, but not for long. As I was leaning against a brick wall, i heard sirens. I acted, but not fast enough. A black car drove past her, and shot her. Straight in the head. 

 

Present

No. I have to forget all of that. All it brings me is pain. I walk into the old, burned, black, abandoned house that I call home. I sit on the floor, leaning my head against the wall, and I fall into a dreamless sleep. 

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