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Orignal Writing - A New Life

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My Home + Death United Packaged in a crate with the razor edges of wood and nails stabbing my body upon entry, I had doubts in how my journey to England would take place. I was told that I would be loaded upon a flight to Manchester, and then I would be "escorted" to a place where others from neighbouring villages like ours lived and made some money. The plan was very ingenious, especially coming from a village where intelligence is a rarity, and those who have it are blessed. Thinking for months about this day, I had to arrive at the delivery truck at 03:00. Now all I could do is dream. Dream from escape, dream of a better life. And when I woke up, the dream would be reality. "You're here; I didn't think you would show up. Do you think your scrawny body can take the truck?" scowled the truck-driver, Ivan. A very stocky built man, with stubble. He spoke with one of the meanest tones possible, demoralising those who exchanged words with him, and he stunk of whisky and vodka when he was in your presence. God moves in mysterious ways, and to be moved by Ivan was immensely mysterious. The only light that shone was the faltering street light that was covered the battered and bruised truck with a radiant glow, but it still looked just as beaten up without the glow. "In NOW, we're late. And you're keeping the others waiting!" ...read more.


Sobbing. Sobbing and jeering is all I heard through the sinful act. I sobbed. She made the biggest sacrificial act that a son could know of. After they had done, one of the soldiers said "She did do what we wanted, her reward should be life". The other, a more muscular and colder soldier just picked up his pistol. Not one shot. Not two shots. Three shots. Pistol-fire was launched three times to humiliate my mother beyond any other person's wild nightmares. Of course, I cried. I did what any nine-year old would do. The soldiers were given commands to leave, and forget all other people while exiting the village. The sound of the fading footsteps told me I could see what didn't want to. Sliding the wooden poles above my head, I raced to see the body. I hugged her, regardless of the blood that flooded the walls and floors. Running to the surface, I was surrounded by crimson liquid, walls painted with blood. And now, now, the carpet was made of my entire family. Lucas, Alexis, and Roman. Father in the corner. Grandmother filled with glinting bullets. That's how my family came to die, all in one day. One moment dominates my mind, with a dark rule that is cold like ice. Just as cold was the crate that shook so vigorously. The truck was slowing down, the engine growling with less ferocity. Then, like a wildcat, it screeched a battle cry that pierced my ears. ...read more.


said the other more skinny, more scrawny policeman, who opened a little handbook. I saw quick glimpses of pictures and pieces of text. "Here he is, Ivan Protakoff, the tyrant tried to take control of Western Russia. He's also described here as the man responsible for the mass murders in Herbansofia and -" "YOU SCUM!!" I exploded out of the crate with all the anger I could muster. I leaped like a gazelle, and attacked like a wild tiger. My fist made a firm connection with Ivan's face. I roared with pain, as I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and repeatedly whacked him across the face. With each hit I made, images of my family flashed before me. Do you think that this piece of intervention made me angrier or sadder? I ceased my assault, with my knuckles doused in his blood. Both the burly and the skinny officers dragged me away from Ivan. What they saw was a confused boy, tears of anger, and still blood. "I will have my VENGANCE! For the people of Herbansofia, I WILL have my VENGANCE!" BANG! Stung with searing heat. Stung by a bullet. Damn, I must say, it's a lot less painful than it sounds. They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. They lied. I can however say that you die with your most defining moment to relive. Going back one minute, finally "killing" the person responsible for my misery, my nightmares, and my total loneliness for fourteen years. ...read more.

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