In The Eye Of The Storm

Fifteen. The turning point of my life. The day when I found out that I was not an Adams; I am Black.

My name is Carrisa Black, eighteen years old, haunted by a man in the shadows, running through the fog that blinds me from my path to a normal future and hoping to know who my real parents are. I am pushed into the eye of the storm.


1. Prologue ~ Hello anonymous

Monday, May 12, 2008

My name is Carrisa Black. But I think you already know that. I think you know all there is about me. Everyday, every time, including as I type this, I have this feeling of insecureness in even the safest of the places in the world. Now, finally I know it has been you the whole time. Who are you? Why are you following me?




I don't want you in the dark behind me, or around me, or anywhere near me! I want to feel my personal space again, to have that sense of freedom and not to always have to look out and avoid the places I would sometimes want to go to because I feel unsafe.


It has been six weeks since I first noticed you, standing hidden behind the black, infinite alleyway. Tall, broad-shouldered, body-build frame; all silhouetted in the shadows. A man with a unique interest of me. Sometimes, I think you're just outside my house in the cold night while I desperately try to get some shut-eye, waiting, eyeing the wooden front door, hoping I would come out. But you yourself would never reveal your face to me. You are just a cold, gloomy figure in the distant fog of memories and reality. Why? Who are you? Why are you following me?


People, even the dearest of my friends, say that I have gone mad, insane. Have I? Maybe I have. Maybe I am just sending this letter to nobody, to someone who doesn't even exist. They say that since I have lost my parents, my real parents, I want to be able to connect with them somehow. Maybe that's true. Maybe I'm trying to find ways. No. That's not it. It's something else. To be able to have a connection somehow? Yes. But to my parents? No, not them. Come to me. Meet me somewhere, we can talk. Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?

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