'My name is Sara Roth. I am fifteen years old. My parents were murdered when I was young. I have been moving children's homes ever since.' I rehearsed these lines underneath my breath repeatedly.

Four sentences. That was all I had to say in front of the manager of Crawford's Children's Home. Even those twenty-five words seemed to jumble inside my mouth, twisting together and leaving a bitter aftertaste.

My stomach convulsed as we closed in on Crawford's. The man driving me there was only twenty-seven but seemed to enjoy listening to depressing tunes which didn't help raise the mood. He didn't seem to notice the fact that there was a fifteen-year-old girl sitting beside him in the shot gun, close to having an anxiety attack.

'My name is Sara Roth. I am fifteen years old. My parents were murdered when I was young...'

Murdered. I never said anything different. Not died. Died could have meant several different things and I didn't want the memory of how my parents were killed completely washed away. Telling people that they were murdered had the elements of a horrific truth but also earned sympathy from them. I didn't want pity. I just wanted a reminder.

The window was cold underneath my fingertips, clouding up as soon my breath touched its surface. Condensation dripped down from the glass and onto the door, and I watched every single droplet race its way to the end. For a fraction of it minute it seemed to distract me from my harsh reality. From the life, I was currently living. In the distance outside, I noticed vast expanses of pasture that spread in every direction in hues of greens and yellows and dotted with the odd animal or two. The sky above was fogged over with a thundercloud grey, the rumble of an oncoming rainstorm rolled through the clouds in flashes of white lightning. A hawk with mottled brown feathers flecked with gold glided through the air with outspread wings, tipped with diamond white. It's sleekness and grace was a thing of beauty along the rolling hills.

'...I have been moving children's homes ever since.'

This was not going to be my first children's home and I doubted it would be my last. I had been to six different home's, each one of them I had run away from. And every time I left one, I was always caught and brought back but not before it made a bloody slash and scarred, leaving only a bitter and frightening memory. The last one I had been too had left a particularly big scar that I was in the belief that it never fade.

The driver had locked the door, most likely to prevent me from leaping out and trying to escape. I saw no reason to run away but being kept in here made me feel trapped and helpless, with no quick path out to make a getaway if need be. Perhaps, this home would be the start of a new life. Maybe the gut wrenching truths would leave my dreams for good. Maybe I could stop running.

For a moment, I dared to hope. Butterflies fluttered around in my stomach and a knot tightened itself around my gut but I allowed myself to relax and steadied my breathing. I could hear each one of my heartbeats and I let it transform into a rhythm of its own, permitting it to drown out all other thoughts and fears and worries, if only for a minute. I let the music take me away to a faraway land. My eyelids sunk down, blocking out the light.

Then a hand grabbed me from behind. I could feel it's talons reach around my shoulder, nails biting down into my skin. It wrenched me back and my eyes flew open as I screamed.

Sweat trickled down my forehead, those butterflies had multiplied by the millions, changing into a swarm of bees that were trying to sting their way out. My heart was racing and each thump of a heartbeat was like a blow to the head.

The driver had stopped driving to look over at me but I could see no claw. No sign that anyone else had been in the car with us. But I knew what I had felt. I remembered those cold, sharp nails digging into my skin that could have easily ripped out flesh if it wanted to.

'Are you alright?' No amount of concern or pity traced his features. Mere annoyance was guided through his eyes but his expression was more exasperated than anything else. He didn't seem to enjoy being delayed on his trip.

Of course, I was not alright. I had spent seven years not being alright. Only recently had the nightmares completely consumed me at night to a point where it became harder and harder to wake up. This was a burden that was too heavy to lift off. 

I nodded to reassure him, as if he really cared. The engine was brought back to life and the sound of the wheels along the dirt road resonated through the seats as our journey continued.

A cold sense of dread settled over me like a cloak as I pulled part of the neck of my shirt away. It revealed four new red scratches on the small of my shoulder that stung as my fingers glided over them.

*Author's note: Okay so this is the first chapter of a book a plan to keep going with. Hopefully it wasn't too terrible. I wasn't sure whether to put this book in the Paranormal section or as a Mystery/Thriller so you get the idea of the setting of the story.*