Zephyr

The cold of my room never leaves me alone. Dark, damp, unfriendly. My name is Zephyr. I live in the small town of Rome, New York with my family of six: My mother, step-father – Jonathon, Skylar, Dan, Cherokee, and then me. I never leave my room. I can't, I have no key, and Jonathon will give no one the key to let me out. My only haven is my window.

Although my window is small, and looks out onto a dry, brown grassed land, it at least is something.

Something is gently shaking the floor. Dinner time. One of my older siblings, most likely Cherokee, slides a paper plate covered in corned beef scraps and soggy green beans. I slide my plate to the small window so it will stay warm while I look for a plastic container.

I eventually find one large enough to hold the non-spoiled food, and put it in a black, drawstring bag. I sling it over my shoulders and walk over to my small window.

You can do this, I think to myself, you know you can.

I crawl through my window and look down at the brown, withering ground in the moon's dim light. I squeeze my small body through the window and topple towards the ground and land on my feet softly. I had been perfecting my natural talent for gymnastics for about six years now.

I nimbly bolt off the porch of my small house, leaving my horrible past behind me.

Come to the cave of the Chosen, that Mysterious voice said into my mind. When I as five, I had told my mother and Jonathon about this voice. My mom had a frantic look in her eyes, like I shouldn't have said that. She was right, because Jonathon said I was insane and locked me up for ten long years.

I'm sorry mother, I silently whisper to her, I'll come back for you soon. Two years ago, my mother and I had a half conversation. She kept telling me that she only married Jonathon to protect me from the "unearthly ones" she calls them. This morning, a small paperback book with the title of Greek Myths and Legends with a slip of paper in one of the pages saying, "Happy Birthday, you are truly his daughter."

That note caught me by surprise. Before my mother had married Jonathon, she had told me many amazing stories about my father. She told me how dashing he was, and how I got so may of my looks from him. She told me how unsocial, but kind he was and how that had brought them together. My father had been on call for the Navy for a year and a half, and when I was six months old, they called him and said he had to be in Boston immediately to get on a ship to Somalia to tone down the action there. While he was taking patrol on his ship, Somali Pirates shot down all of the patrol officers with him, but only severely injured him. They took him captive and when he wouldn't tell them anything, they killed him.

She started crying then.

I am determined to find a safe place for my mother, and I'm pretty sure that strange cave is going to hold my answer.

I have been running for a good fifteen minutes now, and I'm becoming lightheaded quickly. I see the cave in the distance, and I say to myself that I will explore in the morning. Twenty yards to go. Ten yards. Five. I stumble into the cave and take my bag from my shoulders and drop it on the ground to use as a pillow. As soon as my head hits the bag, I fall into a dreamless sleep.