Author's Note: I'm not sure whether to make this a one-shot or go on with it, so let me know what you guys think? But if you guys do tell me to continue this, it might be a while before I actually start updating. I have a few other Fics open and have to get a hold on them before I start regularly updating something else.
Read and review?(:
As I lay here, alive and well, I can't help but wonder. About life. About love. About the scars that would forever corrupt my skin, which— just like my family, my life, my innocence— would never again be pure.
I'm Aiden. Aiden Falconer. That's right; son of John and Louise Falconer, who were once accused of treason. Now, I know what you're thinking. It's probably something along the lines of 'Hey! Your family is together again! You should be happy!', Am I right?
But no. Since my family and I have been reunited, over two years have passed. In fact, it'll be three tomorrow. So why aren't I all chipper and happy?
Dad died, that's why. He's long gone, his ashes spread around in the remains of our one-time home.
See, we've come to realize that we'll never be accepted in society. Well… I already knew. From the day we were no longer fugitives, I had known in my heart that life would never be normal. But Meg, my mom, Dad… they all had hope. When the angry glares were shot our way, they had hope. When the hateful remarks had begun, they had hope. When 'DIE' was written not only across our front door but also Meg's and my lockers, they had hope. When Richie moved away because his family was being tormented for being connected to us, they had hope. When I came home with black eye and fat lip, they had hope. It was about the time our house got set on fire with Dad in it that the sparkle left Mom's eyes and Meg's feet began to drag.
Right now, I'm doing what I always do, which is re-thinking everything. Imagining scenarios in which my father lived. Wondering what we could've done differently. Contemplating what actions of mine had helped cause the arsonist the start the fire. Sometimes, I even go as far as to visualize myself in my father's place, trapped by walls of fire and desperately gasping for oxygen.
Pain. That was all that this kind of thinking has ever gotten me. It was like going up to the doctor and saying, 'Hi, I know you've already performed my surgery, but can we try it again— without the anesthesia this time?'
Doctors. Just the word brings on an onslaught of memories. Some are painful, and some are pleasant. There are pleasant moments like finding out my mom had been by my side the entire time I was in the hospital last year when I had the crap kicked out of me. There were painful memories, like the time Hairless Joe— Frank— Francis tried to kill Meg and I at the hospital when we were on the run.
And death brings me right back to my father. They still haven't found the man (or woman) who did this to him. To Mom. To Meg. To the whole family.
But I swear on my life that one day, I will find him. One day, he will be at my hands. And one day, I swear to God, I will make him suffer every bit as much as my family did.
Because he's the one who broke my baby sister.
A/N: Leave me a review and let me know if I should continue this… thank you so much! (: