I woke up to a deafening noise. A sound that was enough for headaches to start, and make you restless. 

        My eyes started to burn as soon as I opened my eyelids, the sunlight stinging painfully, while my head barreled into an unavoidable headache. 

        I buried my face into the filthy pillow, in an attempt to diminish all the pain - internal and external - without any luck.

        Finally, giving in to the glaring light, I let out a shuddering breath, and sat up. My pillow was soggy and damp in some areas from my waterfall of tears. 

        As soon as I stood up, dizziness washed over me. I held onto the wall for balance, before walking over to my diary to mark this day. Another day to limp through. Another day to remember the tragedy, and cry. 

        1 month and 18 days. Had it only been this long since that day?

        "April! Wake up you useless girl!"

        Aunt Morrison. 

        I shuffled around my room to search for a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which was made difficult with all my belongings in a strewn condition. My bedroom couldn't really be referred to as a "room" because in reality, it was actually an attic. An attic that smelled like rat dung and sometimes felt like the North Pole while another day it could be described as the Sahara Desert. 

        As an alternative for a bed, I had a ragged mattress sprawled across the floor. It wasn't in the best condition - I mean, it was soaked through with water from the leaks in the roof - though I was thankful that I didn't have to sleep on the rigid floor. Beside my bed, I had a small desk, which consisted of my hidden diary and a calendar. 

        At the foot of my bed, there was a square window, draped with cheap dollar-store curtains I had managed to sneak into the house with some money I was able to collect by baby-sitting a neighbor's dog. Yes, a dog. Well, what can I say, some people just love their puppies. Including me. Bulldogs are absolutely adorable! I actually used to have one named "Grumpy". Purpose for the name? Well, a part of it was from the inspiration I got from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The other half, a more reasonable answer, was from the way Grumpy acted. The first day I got him, he snapped at me. I was only 9, so it was rather frightful. 

        Now, going back to the curtains. The curtains aren't necessarily modern or decent; they have little tomatoes on them. These ones were the only ones I could find that fit my window. I would have loved to have black or grey curtains, perfect to fit my recent portion of life, though my luck being tattered and basically uncooperative, I was stuck with these red blotches with a yellow background.  

        Tossing and turning the pile of clothes, I retrieved a worn-out hoodie and jeans. Dusting the clothes with my hand, I brought them to my nose, smelling to see if they were clean. It didn't smell like flowers, but it'd have to do. I quickly pulled the clothes on and used my fingers to settle down my brown matted locks. I quickly scrambled through my bedroom - sorry, attic - door which was inscribed into the floor. Just as I stepped on the third rung of the ladder, the trap door decided to give away and fell on my head with a THWACK. 

        Rubbing my head, I reached up to hold the door before it came even further. 

        "April, where are you!? Come down, you wretched girl!"

        Aunt Morrison's voice sent a lightning bolt of anger through my body. Who does she think she is? She has no respect for me! Clenching my jaw, I descended the rungs faster, the fury inside me providing a thrust for my body. I planted my feet with loud smacks onto the floor, which sent echoes through the corridor. 

        "STOP STOMPING LIKE SOME MONSTER!"

        I rolled my eyes, my eyeballs turning in my sockets and pulled the corners of my mouth into a satisfied smile. I couldn't care less if the floor collapsed. Except for the part I'm recently walking on. I don't prefer to die in a house destruction. Imagine: Breaking news! A fifteen year old girl, April Reid, dies in a house as it collapsed. 

        I didn't bother to head to the washroom to wash my face, and burst into the kitchen. 

        This is where the deafening noise was drifting from. Aunt Morrison was throwing utensils harshly into the sink, piling the ones already washed, as well. 

        "Hey, you. What took you so long? And what happened to your hair?" Courtney demanded. 

        "My lovely daughter, you needn't worry about this pest," Aunt Morrison reassured her daughter, who was seated on the garage-sale couch with chipped black leather, catching an episode of Pretty Little Liars on the T.V. before school. The T.V.; I almost snorted. It was more like a box that displayed people acting like jokers. 

        Courtney smirked at me and shook her head disapprovingly. 

        "April, hurry and get to work cleaning these dishes. They're piled up as tall as Mount Everest for goodness' sake. You do absolutely no work," Aunt Morrison snapped, her voice as harsh as ever. 

        "But, Aunt Morrison, I just cleaned these last night."

        "Stop trying to make your lame excuses. I'm way smarter than you. Now, get to work," Aunt Morrison said. 

        I didn't reply. There was no point in arguing. Aunt Morrison always found a way to strike me in the places where words hurt me the most; my weaknesses. So, I had learned a long time ago to stop spending my time doing things that made no difference whatsoever. If change was going to happen, then it would be when circumstances positioned themselves in different ways. If change was needed, it would be sometime when it was the right time, the desperate time; when I started fighting. But, fighting was out of my dictionary, at least at the moment.

        When I was alone, I acted normal. I was tough, sarcastic. Though, now, in front of these people, in front of people in general, I automatically change somehow. I suddenly feel helpless. I'm insecure, aren't I?  

        Well, no matter how cruel Aunt Morrison and her daughter were, no matter how they treated me like a servant, like a nobody, they took me in. They offered me a home, when I stayed up all nights at the foster home wishing for the warmth of fireplaces, the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. They invited me when I cried for my mom and dad, knowing that they'll never come back. 

        Even if Aunt Morrison got money as a reward for keeping me, she still gave me a home. For that I should be grateful, a fact that I keep reminding myself of, when Aunt Morrison and her daughter make snarky remarks, when they turn each and every day of my life into a horrid nightmare. For these reasons, fighting was something I restrained myself from, even though, my mind most of the time barreled with the idea of slapping Courtney, and teaching the mother and daughter a lesson.  

        Now, I scrubbed the dishes with a rough sponge, the edges digging into my flesh. 

        By the time I finished, Courtney had already left for school, and Aunt Morrison for work. Aunt Morrison worked as a hairstylist at the local Hair O'Spray. It's the only one we've got in Bardstown, Kentucky. You see, our little town isn't the most developed area. The buildings here are ancient and squat-like; almost like boxes. Although, something we all are proud of, is the fact that Bardstown has been voted the 'most beautiful small town in America'.

        I glanced down at my hands. My palms were red, and the flesh was ripped and cracked at parts. The sight brought tears to my eyes. Mom, Dad, I miss you.

        I hastily wiped at my tears, and grabbing my worn-out-like-all-my-things tote bag, I exited the house. I turned on my old and tattered phone to check the time. This phone had no sim, which meant no calling. I had exactly three minutes before the school bell rang. Shoving the phone into the bag, I sprinted full force towards the school. 

        New Day. Will it be any better? Shooting star, I'm counting on you, even if it's with 1/1000th of my heart, I still am. 

        Don't let me down.  

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------    

Author's Note:

Hello! How are you doing? This was the first chapter! I hope you liked it. If you are reading this, then I am extremely grateful to you, and just know the time you're taking to read my book means a lot to me. Also, if you have any criticism, suggestions, book requests, then feel free to comment below. :)

- Anika