Run Away

READ THIS FIRST! Okay so this is NOT a fan fiction, it's an original story I wrote. I had to write this for a class in 7th grade and it's a short story aka THERE WILL ONLY BE THIS CHAPTER! The end of this chapter is the end of the story it's written so that you have to infer what happens next. It would mean a lot to me if I could get some feed back so thank you! Enjoy!!

Chapter 1

Emmy Taylor

When most 13 year olds complain that their parents don’t understand them, they are easily dismissed as acting like a ‘teenager’. I wish that when I complained about my parents you could just assume the same thing, and still be correct. Maybe you would think that I was simply grounded or something. Unfortunately for me, it’s not that simple. When I say things like they don’t appreciate me, I mean it.
For a while my life had been relatively normal. I’m an only child with a mom, Jean Taylor-Smith, and a dad, David Taylor-Smith. My weird family didn’t want my mother’s maiden name to die out, so they simply combined Taylor and Smith. While my family was odd, at least it was a family. All of that changed when I, Emmy Taylor-Smith turned 9 years old.
David left us. Some people may argue that he left my mother, not me, such as that sly guidance councilor at my school. She smells like peppermints and is always chewing gum. She also stole a lollypop from me in 6th grade but was never caught. Anyway I don’t trust her, and I can argue even more that he left the both of us. Just before he left I heard my mom and my dad arguing over me, that they shouldn’t have to pay so much for me, and that I was too needy and that my mom was too soft on me. I never thought that because my mom was the one who would always yell at me, while my dad would simply tell me quietly to leave, it wouldn’t matter where to but I had to get out of the house. I think he was scarier. I wasn’t the only one to blame, I would cajole my self, because on the day he left us he was screaming at my mother. She had just been fired from her already low paying job and wouldn’t be able to start another job until another 3 months for some odd reason.
“I’ve had enough! Enough of having to take care of you both! I do all the work around here and I hate it! I could do better if I started over from scratch!” and with those words he stormed up the stairs, grabbed his things, and left. The only sign of remorse and his only apology was about 3 weeks later when my birthday rolled around and he managed to scrape up the money to buy me an iPod. On the back the words ‘Dad + Emma’ were engraved and ever since I have refused to be called Emma. I'm Emmy now.
It had been 2 years since we had heard from him, and my mother had pretty much shut herself off from everything. The only things she did now was work, sleep, eat, cry, and yell at me. So because of the lack of communication to the outside world I was very surprised when I saw a letter in our mailbox that wasn’t a bill for something. As I read it I got angrier and angrier. Not only had he left us but also my father had given us another unwanted surprise. Enclosed in the letter were a divorce notice, and a small letter saying something along the lines of; ‘David Smith and Laurie Fadern were to be married in the next year, as soon as their newborn son had grown up a little.’ The disgust that flew threw me was amazingly powerful. I showed my mother, but left the room when she started to cry. This was when I was eleven years old. My mother held a job for a little over a year after that, amazingly, but after she was fired things started going downhill even faster.
As soon as I came home that day I knew something had happened. I walked into the living room to find my mom knocked out with two empty bottles of wine next to her and about three spilled onto the floor, seeping into the carpet. That was the beginning of this year, and its been like this since. Now its November, cold, and I’m stuck again.
* * *
Sighing in frustration I made up a plan. The small basement window was still half open, like it had been ever since I threw a toy at it when I was little and my dad had been too frugal to fix it. So I could probably force it open the rest of the way, but it might also break and shatter glass all over me. The only other alternative would be to wait for my mother to wake and unlock the kitchen and font door of the house. That way was more practical, but it had a slight drawback. My mother was flat passed out from alcohol and currently slumped over the coffee table in the living room. It could be hours before she awoke from her drunken state. After weighing the two options I realized, that while I had been mumbling and pouting the sun had almost disappeared. So over to the window I went.
SHHHH
The glass shards flew through the windowpane and into the cold cellar. Shivering I lightly slipped myself through the now empty window frame and onto the floor, careful not to step on the glass I plodded to the floor in one graceful… fall. I picked up my cold, sore body and made my way over to the old stairs, not remembering that two of the stairs were rotting. The inhuman squeal that left my lips did not even come close to the right noise for my feelings. There was a colossal spider on the step that I was on the verge of breaking. A SPIDER. The most disgusting, beady eyed, vulgar creature to ever crawl up my staircase. Not to show intimidation I screamed once for good measure then bolted up the rest of the stairs, almost slipping on two steps. You could hear that door bang from across the nation. Still beside myself with disgust I unlocked the back door and started to go up to my room. Switching on the light I put down my bag. Then switching on the light again. And again. And again. Now paying very close attention to the offending piece of electricity. I slowly and deliberately pushed down the lever type thing. Nothing.
“ASHLEY TAYLOR!” my voice cracked, as I stormed down the stairs. “The lights. WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM?”
The unsatisfied grunt was not a good enough answer for me. The living room was quiet as I walked in, and the ever-present cheap fan was silent. We hadn’t turned that thing off in years, despite the fact the whole room smelled of lint-balls because of it.
“The electricity bill came.” I heard my pitiful mother murmur.
“So? I save money every month for the bills from my job at the diner. There was enough money for this month’s bills and some of December’s bills.”
“It’s not my fault that wine prices rose.” Unimpressed my mother made her way to the kitchen. The sight of my gaping face didn’t even register to her. “You have to start helping out around here,” gesturing to the upturned chair and dirty dishes. “I can’t do every-“ she was cut off by the most inviting thing to her in the room. The floor. I left her snoring as I took what was left of the money and stormed upstairs.
* * *
One packed bag and ten minuets later I was slamming the door behind me. I had all the necessities, blankets, water, food, clothes, outdated IPod, and the most important thing to me ever. It was a tiny white slip of paper with only a few words on it. 231 Sherman Ave. I knew exactly how to get there, because it wasn’t my first time running away. But that would start in the morning. What I needed to do now was sleep. I stormed over to the old woods that started on the back of my property, took a deep breath, and walked into the dark forest. If anyone asked where I had been, I would simply tell them that I had gone on a family vacation. TechnicallyI had, seeing as I didn’t consider my mother part of my family (I hardly referred to her as mom anyway, I called her Ashley). So I went camping with the only immediate family member I had that I trusted. Me.
So on that happy note I traveled back through the creepy old woods, hopping around any suspicious insects. Finally after some bush whacking and screams of terror I made it to a good spot to rest.
Tossing my bag near a weathered old tree I crawled over to it, avoiding the bugs and decaying bark at all costs. Scary humans I could deal with, animals and bugs? Not so much. The cold seeped in through the two blankets I had brought.
“Where’s global warming when you need it?” I thought aloud. Aware of the silence that followed my words I hid myself under the blanket and drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken every few minutes by a persistent fly.
* * *
“Uhhhh.” Humidity had set into my lungs sometime while I had been sleeping. Now every time I spoke I sounded like that frog I had brought home from the pond when I was six. Rolling out of the uncomfortable position I had been sleeping in I took out some granola bars I had stashed in my room a while ago for emergencies. Every time I ran away I took a few, and when I was sent home from wherever I had run to, I would replace them. The flavor of crunchy nuts and too sweet honey flew into my mouth, increasing in flavor with every bite. Fed up with the taste I re-wrapped it and stuck it in my bad. A quick change of clothes and I was off. ‘Running through the woods in the daylight is a lot easier than tripping over rodents at night.’ I thought. ‘Now one last thing and I’m off.’
* * *
I left a note like I always did, between 8:00 and 11:00 am, while my mother was predictably out trying to solicit money off of anyone she could find. On the front door I left a post-it for nobody in particular just in case some deranged police officer decided to check our house for something. ‘Gone where I always go. Can’t stand it here. Goodbye, again. -Emmy’ . Satisfied with the note I walked off, and down the road. With each step hoping to never have to go back to the terrible place I hated calling home.
* * *
With my thumb up and my backpack firmly on my back I waited. Just outside of the exit to the highway I stood, waiting for some car to pull over and yell at me for hitchhiking. Why was I waiting for a person to yell at me instead of someone who would drive me where I needed to go? Because after those cars finished yelling at me they would take me wherever in the world I needed to be. Why? Those people usually also feel that if they left me there I would be a sinner or something else ridiculous and with their god fearing mind set, they would bring me to Englewood’s main road. I didn’t actually want them to take me to my aunt’s house because after they dropped me off they would call some interfering authority into the mess who would end up taking me back to the place I least wanted to be. So after about 20 minuets of pointless yelling at cars someone rolled around and gave me the usual Jesus talk, while I nodded like I cared. Then I was on my way.
* * *
“Now dearie, make sure you get there safely.” The old women chatted on and I learned at some point that she was Mrs. Albama but that I was to cal her ‘granny’. ‘She must be really old if she thinks that she is some how everyone’s granny.’ I thought to my self as I said thank you and hopped out of the car. Waiting until she had driven away I smiled, then ducked under the only shade that was available to eat my lunch. Scrunched under a half dead dwarf tree I eat my lunch, I thought of how my aunt would react. “Oh Emmy, I’m so glad you came!” I said aloud as I stood up, bumping my head on the low branches. Then I said some other choice words that I did not want my Aunt to say when she saw me.
“Emmy, again?” the withering look that I got from her was so upsetting to me that I almost turned around and left. But I didn’t.
“There’s nowhere else for me to go, you know that.”
“You could stay there with your mother.”
“She didn’t pay the bills and there is no heat or electricity.”
“Emmy….” Wrinkle lines appeared on her usually young looking face, and I tried to tell myself that I hadn’t caused them. “You can stay for tonight, but tomorrow I’m bringing you back home.”
Sighing in relief I put down my bag and looked up at her expectantly. With a drawn face she told me to stay here, but she had to go to work. With a smile and an okay I watched her close the door and head out the door. Then, with a small exclamation of exhaustion, I fell asleep on the couch.
* * *
In the car, a grim and dismal look stayed permanently on my face. Silence engulfed the car, pounding in on my ears. We hadn’t even attempted light chitchat. Just silence. Aunt Lillian opened the door and led me out onto my porch. She rang the doorbell. Nothing.
“No electricity, remember?” I pouted standing behind my formerly beloved aunt. Now she was just like the rest of my family, abandoning and unreliable. I pushed past her roughly and grabbed the doorknob, shoving open the rickety old door. “You first, oh great auntie.” The sarcasm was visible in the air. For a moment she became the former, loving, fun aunt Lillian, the smile came back and a roll of the eyes was coming I could tell. Suddenly she seemed to lock down her feelings and quietly walk in the door without saying anything at all. Disgusted at my own longing of her to be kind again. ‘Kindness wont help me pay the bills so why should I want it from anyone?’ I thought silently, ‘nobody has a reason to be kind to me anyway.’ I watched in satisfaction as my aunt winced at every bug and piece of food that was thrown around the house. She looked like she was having a seizure as she surveyed the kitchen. Giggling to myself I righted one of the chairs and sat.
“Ummm Emmy, where is your mother?” the neat freak asked politely as she stepped over a pizza box.
“How would I know? Its not like she tells me anything. My best guess would be somewhere really close to the ground, half passed out.”
“That’s not funny Emmy.”
“It would be if I had been joking.”
“Emmy-” barely able to contain my disgust with her, I cut off her last sentence.
“You act as if it’s odd that she’s out at all hours of the day, missing from the rest of the world. Believe me, it’s nothing new. Well I’ll be upstairs. If you need me to give you a tour, well… rethink it.”
With that kind note, I stood up and walked to the stairs, savoring the look of despair on my Aunt’s face. I was about halfway up the ever-deteriorating stairs when I heard someone moan. Spinning around to gaze at the living room I saw my mother. She was passed out under a sheet of some sort.
“OH AUNTIE, GUESS WHO I FOUND!” my dramatically singsong voice echoed the empty halls of my house. Skipping down the stairs and in an obnoxiously cheerful voice that nobody ever should use I called to my mother. “Hello mommy darling! I’m glad to see that you’re drunk!” the sarcasm started to seep in. “that’s definitely a first!” I grabbed the sheet and tore it off my mother’s body, sticky with some sort of alcoholic substance. I heard a scream from far away, and then another. The first thought I had was; hey they harmonized! Then I realized that it was my Aunt and I screaming. I felt someone push me out of the way, but I couldn’t tell who it was. Or whether or not I was moving. Everything started to spin.
I was on the ground. I didn’t know why. Screams floated around me distant at first, then booming loud in my head. They were all from one person but, ‘oh no.’
* * *
I can’t remember what happened exactly. Aunt Lillian explained it later, but it still doesn’t click in my mind. Her story was that my mother had gotten sick because she was an undiagnosed diabetic and had gotten too much sugar and passed out. But that doesn’t explain the blood everywhere. When I asked her about that, she sat me down and said that I had hit my head and fainted so my mind must be a little ‘boggled’. Except I didn’t know what that word meant so I just smiled and nodded until later when I looked it up online and got very insulted. We don’t even have good chairs to knock into! All we had were some folding chairs that I think my mom stole from a garage sale when she lost her job, because when I got home from school what had been an open space now had chairs. I didn’t question it at the time but I guess it was a bit fishy. The point is I know that I didn’t pass out because I remember it, I just can’t remember all of it. I’m guessing I was in shock because I could smell and feel the blood around me, and I could hear the screams but I couldn’t put the two together. The facts were there but I still didn’t know what was happening. Even with all that behind us, I still didn’t trust my Aunt. She was always nervous and jumpy, completely out of character.
On the first day that I was over after the accident she told me to, “not open the door or answer the phone. Not to anyone, even a police officer.” After she had left the room I heard her mumble in what she thought was a quiet tone, “especially not police men.” I found this to be an especially odd comment, and as I leaned against the wall with my perfect eavesdropping skills pondered over what she meant by that. Confused by everything happening that day I had sat down on the couch and fell asleep in a matter of moments.
This brings me to where I am now. Sitting in the back of my aunt’s car driving to the hospital for my first visit. That’s when I figure something out. The calendar in the hospital said that it was November 28th, but when I left to find my aunt it was only the 9th. I had only been gone 2 nights until we had found my mother, and I had only been at Aunt Lillian’s house for 4 days. How was that possible? I thought as I followed my Aunt’s fast pace.
“Stop. I’m not taking another step until you explain.” My voice seemed to freeze my Aunt in her place, as if those 9 words meant life or death to her. She turned around and whispered to me,
“Not now Emmy. Later, when we’re alone.”
“Now.”
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re too inexperienced.”
“Try me.”
She swept me into an empty room and looked me straight in the eyes. The wild, uncontainable emotions that were in her eyes made me take a step back, suddenly reluctant to find out what she had to say. She grabbed my arms and forcefully dragged me to the open hospital bed.
“What are you doing? Let go of me! AUNT LILIAN!”
“Shut up. I knew that I couldn’t keep the truth from you forever. Listen. I’m going to drop you at home and you’re going to have to do everything I say. A man will knock on the door tomorrow at 12 o’clock exactly. Let him in. Ask if he wants anything to drink. He will say water. Go into the kitchen and get him a glass of water, but make sure to give him tap water from the sink closest to the doorway, not the other one. Then when you give it to him he will ask, “Is Mariana home?” Tell him yes. Lead him to the back room, the one I use as my office out of the office. The door locks from the outside. Once he is in and the door is locked, call this number. I’ll be there soon.”
“What is all this! Are you crazy? You’re not even going to be there!”
“I’ll come back as soon as he is locked in the back room.”
“Fine. What happens to me after all this?”
“We’ll get to that. Lets get you home and ready now.”
Shaking with fear I follow, as her heels click on the parking lot I shiver, wondering what happened to my life in the past few days. Suddenly, I knew what to do.
* * *
As soon as she leaves I call the police, telling them all that I know of what’s going on including what happened to my mother. They say that they’ll be right over to the house but I tell them no. I want them to stay away from the house incase my deranged family is keeping it under surveillance. Instead the plan is that they cut through backyards and come in the house from the back door. They were to hide in the backroom, and when I called for them they would pop out and arrest the guy for being creepy! Then we would call my Aunt, she would come to the house, and they would arrest her too for being extra creepy! Except one problem. They don’t believe me.
“Sorry kid but those jokes get less and less funny by the day.” Then they hung up. So I did what any terrified girl who had been raised by herself not to trust anyone, especially herself. I ran. It was 11:30 in the morning and I broke. Grabbing all of the stuff that I could fit into a bag I found in a closet, I took off. As far as I was concerned I had fallen and had hit my head, and couldn’t remember anything past yesterday. So with crunchy granola bars in my bag I set out, not looking back. Even as I heard a scream of frustration that sounded remarkably like one of my family members I decided that, heck, not my problem anymore. I didn’t look back.

1 Comment

© 2019 Polarity Technologies
X
X

Invite Next Author

Write a short message (optional)

or via Email

Enter Quibblo Username

X

Report This Content