Melody has a problem. It's her grandmother. She thinks she hates her, but a wish could change it all. If Melody has the strength to search for answers.


8. summer

No one ever did celebrate my birthday.  It was just too sad of an event.  After a few days I got better.  School carried on and the main focus in my life became training and being with my family.  I surrounded myself with family when it got dark out, and during the day I trained.  A purpose made the pain of losing my Grandmother more bearable.

My parents had gone back to their jobs and taken Jon with them.  It was just me and my Aunt in the beginning.  Then she when back to the hospital after a month.  I was on my own, during the night I thought back to when my family was together, then I read.  Soon though she stopped being able to come in the dark.  I was completely alone.

Six months later it was summer vacation.  Two weeks of no school.  Then I would find out it I had made it to seventh grade or stayed in sixth grade.  

For most kids summer was just a vacation.  For me it was a chance to catch up on housework.  I was bring out the chicken bones.  Today I had to make chicken broth.  I turned the stove on and set the pot on it.  

I went outside and rolled.  The movement was a comfort to me.

When I came in the broth was done.  As I reached for the handle my arm rubbed against the pot.  At first I only felt a tiny amount of heat.  I started to pick the pot up.  When my arm moved I felt it.  Raw yet sharp pain traveled up my arm and continued to tingle.  Crying out I jumped, the pot dropped to the floor and spilled.  I frantically turned the water in the sink on.  Oh that felt good.

When I was done I washed the floor and put the pot in the sink.  I stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at my burnt arm.  It did not go deep just a lot of skin, nothing else.  I reached to touch it with my finger.  When my hand was over it my hand started to shake.  If I could not work up the courage to touch it then it definitely hurt more then I was admitting to myself.  Burning my arm might seem like such a small event but what it leads up to is big.

I remembered that my Aunt had told me lavender oil was good for burns.  That would mean a walk.  I looked around the house I had holed myself in other then school and the bakery.  I need a break.

I walk to the oils stores.  I forgot how good just walking can be.  The feel of the sun.  Birds singing, squirrels running, simple things.

The lady at the store asked,” how did you get this”?

“Cooking accident,” I answered.

She handed me the lavender oil.

I had to hurry home now.  There was an inspection.

Our storm shelter is where I keep my bow.  It is not hidden under a rug or anything cheesy like that.  It is a access by a tiny button in the wall, the button is behind a knot in the wood, it is so small you need a pencil tip to reach it.  The actual door is in plane sight.  It’s just so well built you need a magnifying glass to see it and even then you must know where to look.  

When I reach home I see a old brown cat having a standoff with one of the guards.  The guard's gun is pointed at the cat and the cat is hissing and lashing its tail.  I started to sprint towards the stand off.

As I got closer I could almost see my Grandmother in the cat.  I kept running.  This might be a random cat I thought.  But if it wasn’t, I had to save it, my gut instinct told me that this particular cat was important somehow.


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