Bittersweet Revenge

Hey my fantastic Quibblonians!
So the idea for this story just popped randomly into my head. I'm not quite sure where it's headed yet, so bear with me, guys!
I really would appreciate if you could comment, it'd mean a lot to me.
At least rate honestly! I need constructive criticism, so feel free to pick faults within reason.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!
❤ Scarlett

Chapter 1

To this day

His childish, 5 year old voice cuts through the icy air, and I turn with a smile on my numb face.
“Becky! Becky! Guess what?”
I take his little blue backpack and he slips a mittened hand into my free hand, the other of which is wheeling a bicycle, excitement brimming over in his big eyes.
“You won a million dollars? Miracles do happen.” I tease
“Noooo. Be serious, Bec!”
“Oh, but I was.”
He stops, makes me face him, and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He smooths out the creases almost reverently, and hands it to me as if it is a precious document. I raise my eyebrows in smothered amusement, rest the bike on my hip, and read aloud.
“Dear parent/caregiver. We are pleased to announce that your child, Daniel Hill, has been chosen to perform in the annual school play. The production will take place on October the 12th and the students will be putting on Hamlet. We cordially invite you to see your child perform in this wonderful production. Signed, Ms Everet.”
I look down at him. “Oh, my little man is going to be an actor!” I clutch at my heart and fake a swoon. He giggles and his dimples flash.
“I’m going to show Mummy!” He tells me breathlessly, as he takes his bag off me and begins running toward our house, which, by now, is only across the road and 2 houses down.
“Alright,” I call, “Just look out for cars.”
Something should have told me then. Something in me shouted, “Go with him!” but did I listen to it? Did I make him stop, wait for me, and walk him across the road myself?
No. And to this day, my heart aches at the thought that I could have prevented it, and the jagged writing on this page is blurred almost into unreadability by my free flowing tears of guilt.
Because, cursed reader of this story, my little brother got hit. By a car. In front of my eyes.

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