Behind These Stormy Eyes (An Original Story)

Chapter 1

All I Got

I'm not that much in greetings. I'm not that much into talking, either. But I feel that you need to know my story. I feel like you, and everyone else in the world, the ones that feel ungrateful that all they have for dinner is a couple slices of bread, should know my story. Should know our story.
My name is Ray. Yes, I'm a girl. Yes, I'm a teenager. 14 years. Yes, I can beat the crap out of anyone who comes my way. Don't underestimate me. Maybe next time, you'll just estimate me.
I take care of three little kids by myself. Our biggest worries? How about this: Is our next meal going to be tomorrow, or next week? How can I stop from getting frostbite? What can I do for this infection?
These are my biggest worries, thanks to Sorry Excuse Mother.

I've been putting off telling you my story, which is hypocritical. So here it is:
When I was just 9 years old, I had already moved several times in my life. I had three siblings. Isabella was just four. Rose and Charles, the twins, were just one year old.
My father was getting very sick. Him and my mother went to see a doctor, and they found out that Dad had lung cancer. The Doctors told him he had a little over a year.
Being 9, hearing that I was about to lose my Dad was not a reality. I didn't understand. "I'm going to visit Grandma and Grandpa for awhile." He had told me. "But for how long?" I would ask. "I don't know, sweetie. But if I don't come back, then I'll wait for you."
Then the tears would start, and I would tell him, "But I want you to be home!"
My mother would stand in the doorway, holding one of my siblings.
My unrealistic nightmares soon turned into reality.Just before I turned 11, Dad died, leaving my mom to take care of four children alone.
Let me tell you, my parents were two people very much in love. I remember seeing the look in their eyes as they sat on the couch, a family night, watching a Charlie Brown rerun. Then my father would smile, and my mom would stroke his cheek, and they would continue watching Snoopy cook for Thanksgiving, or watch Charlie Brown smack his forehead saying "Good Grief."
My mom began to lose it. She started on pain medications, anti-depressants, or sometimes just aspirin. But she could never forget Dad.
So then started the drinking... and the drugs..
By the time I was 12, I had taken on responsibilities such as:
Pick up the younger ones from daycare or school.
Clean the house.
Fix dinner.

We began coming home to my mom and a new guy each day. They would go in a room, lock the door, and- well, I prefer not to say.
Which left me to order food, or bike ride to the nearest gas station to pick up a couple of sandwiches. I was on first name basis with all delivery guys in town.
Mom was crazy. Demented. Insane.
One day, she left and never came back.
Do you know what I did? I took essentials out of the house, packed them in four cinch packs, and torched the place. I burned the house down out of pure anger.
Then I piled the three younger ones into a little red wagon, tied that to my bike, and took off.
Now we roam the streets of Detroit, Michigan.
This is my story. Open up your ears, and listen a little.

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