They are after me...

My name is Payton… they are after me. All of them, those men in black suits. They want to hold me ransom, to my father’s money. He is a graduate from M.I.T. And is currently the top scientist in N.A.S.A. People lionize him so much, they stay over night out side our mansion. They assimilate every single detail. There are people trained to follow him. And that is where I come in, The daughter of a multi-millionare, I am supposed to be meticulous about who I hang out with, or talk with. I don’t see my father much-not anymore.

Anyways, there is a man… Lucifer Blair. A man, trained to follow me, wanted by the F.B.I due to several cases. Lucifer has been “stalking me” for a year now. My dad and I had a dissension, since he wanted me to be protected by body guards. But now I regret not taking the offer, since I am running bare-foot, away from a bulky man. I have to admit I am scared. Should I stop running? No I can’t, I won’t.

Summer of 2005

It was he summer of 2005. In a small town in the east of Arizona. Becca was a ten year old girl who had murdered 5 people. Some say she conspired to kill more but no one has enough proof. They blame the anarchy in her house. Her father is a drug addict and her mother is a waitress in IHOP. There are only certain people that apprehend her problems but that is very rare. Others say she is a psychopath untreated. She once killed an old farmer by the western county. Why? No one knows.

Other rumors have pervaded among the state. But none seem to be true. Becca leaves traces on the hands of the people she kills. They are usually a lock of her hair. Or something completely bizarre like a piece of paper or an empty perfume bottle. When she was seven she was caught by the police but had escaped. No one knows about Becca and her family anymore. She might have moved, died, or she might be hiding. The FBI has gotten their noses in to this case and will not stop until an answer has been found.

Fourteen

Fourteen... just a number...right? I'm bull's eye, to life's shotgun. I try hiding behind tables and doors. But always end up shot in one way or the other. I try running away, from problems, and difficult times. But somehow reality catches up. Fourteen is more than a number, more than a problem. Some might take it as growing old. Others might take it as a step to a stairway, each being a year blocking their view. Im not sure as how I take it, not yet.

I remember when I was 6. I would swing on the monkey bars in the park, right after school. My knees, scraped from falling. My hands, so very small. My clothes dirty from the mud. And my homework all done. I would go get an ice cream in the store next door. Always the same flavour, my maid would complain. I would hold it in my hand and walk back home.

We would go up the stairs, since the elevator would take so long. My maid, yet huffing and puffing wouldn't complain about this, not anymore. I'd sit on the brown couch and read Amber Brown. Mommy would come out and read next to me. She used to read such big books, I wanted to read them too, but I was too small. Then we would sit down and paint. And later have dinner. Daddy, would read me a good night story, until I fell asleep.

But now, things are different. I come home and do my home work. It takes a long time, since I start getting sleepy. Then when I am supposed to be making my bag for the next day, I just stare out the window, and feel the breeze cooling my sun kissed skin. I watch the sun set and the moon rise. And enjoy it while I can.