-Chapter One-
I could smell the bacon my mother was cooking for me downstairs. It mingled with the sea salt that had been carried off the water and through my open window. The aroma was delicious, yet I shall be far away by the time she would come upstairs to wake me; finding I had fled. I crept slowly down the hall, like a cat stalking it's prey. I pushed open the white door to my father's room. The hinges creaked softly like the dusty floorboards beneath me. It had been empty ever since his death 4 years ago. I slid across the dull, hardwood floors in my bedroom slippers; like I had done countless times in my childhood. I reached under the ragged mattress and pulled out a small, metal box. Inside was my family portrait, of me, my mother, and my father. My mother's face had been burned out with a cigarette. Not surprised, since they had such a violent relationship. Underneath it was a Colt 38 Revolver. I removed the gun from the box and slipped it into the pocket of my robe along with the picture. I slunk back into my room and packed up my belongings. I was able to fit 2 toothbrushes, a packet toothpaste, a hairbrush, the contents of the metal box, and my woolen sweater into the red and white knapsack. I walked over to my bed and picked up my teddy bear. It was a present from my parents for my 7th birthday. The stuffing was protruding from a tear in the fabric; and one of it's button eyes was hanging by a thread. I quietly opened the white, french doors and clambered out onto my balcony. I looked out onto the water, the air crisp and dry like a potato chip, and the distant sea as bland as clothing detergent. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out five dollars in change, a handful of lint, and a watermelon Jolly Rancher. "This ought to last me." I thought; as I plopped the candy into my mouth. I swung myself over the railing and slid down one of the marble columns. I landed in a briar patch with a soft "thud". I tumbled down the small hill, unseen, and ducked behind an animal-like topiarie. Through the leaves I could see my mother slaving over that hot stove. I surpressed a chuckle, for she was unaware of my escape. I army-crawled across the ground to a newly trimmed hedge so I could pick the thorns out of my clothes and hair. After doing so, I ventured into the dark forest . . .
