Don't make a sound
It's been two years, since the tragic night when my family got brutally murdered by my father's brother.
How do you get over waking up to your mother screaming from the hallway while holding your brother's lifeless body to her chest right in front of you,
before your father grabs your hand and locks you inside your bedroom, whispering, "Stay in here, don't make a sound and don't come out!
" Before rushing out into the hallway and dies while your mother is begging for her life before she's dead too. As it went silent, I walked out into the hallway, thinking I was safe.
God knows I was wrong. He was waiting for me, right around the corner, and pushed me over the railing. I pretended to be dead and he walked out of our house that night, thinking he won.
It's been two years, and I've been in hiding ever since. More specific, pretending to be dead so my crazy ass uncle doesn't find me.
My uncle was always a likable guy; always treating people right. No one would know he was plotting murder against his only brother and his family. Why? No one knows.
It's still a mystery to this day.
I never stay in one place for longer than a week. I can't stop moving, I can't let him find me before I know exactly what happened between him and my father.
After my family was murdered, I traveled to a friend in New York. I changed my name, my appearance; everything. I had a completely new identity. For my own safety, I had to do it.
Because of that, I could walk down the streets without being recognized. Who knows where my uncle is or what he's doing. If he found me, I would probably be dead.
I have managed to keep my real identity a secret for two years. The people in my hometown, Abingdon in Virginia, thought I was dead.
I even attended my own memorial speech at my school, but I didn't stay for long. I have to admit that it was hard seeing my best friends, Tony, Sierra, and Melanie crying their eyes out.
I felt sorry for them, but I couldn't tell them I was alive. It would put everyone in danger.
Even some of the popular girls cried, telling everyone how brave I must have been until my last breath. How terrible this whole situation was and how devastated they were.
Bullshit, pure bullshit. They had never once tried to be my friend. Only giving me evil stares and bullying me since fifth grade.
Well, they always needed attention, and when the attention was on someone else instead of them, they tried to make the whole situation about themselves. Pathetic.
No one found my body, but after they had been searching for me for three weeks straight, they assumed I was dead.
How would someone manage to escape a murderer? The police never solved who murdered "us".
My uncle made a statement in the local newspaper, telling how devastated he was that his brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew were murdered.
That he cried himself to sleep every night and that he wouldn't rest until their murderer was caught. Well, I must agree with him on that.
I won't rest until I have justice.