Hi guys! i've been meaning to write a fanfic for a long time now, so when i wrote this story for school i realized the characters matched those of fairy tail perfectly! i really hope you like it! i wont force you to review, but i would really like it! hope you enjoy!

and i suppose i should put in a disclaimer... soooooooo... i own the plot but unfortunatly not the characters.. so... ya

Death. It's one word, but it means everything, some think of it as separation, pain, heartbreak. I think it looks like a way out.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to kill myself, all suicide would accomplish is getting my father sympathy and the idiots at my school something to gossip about. I mean, if I died, who would keep my little sister from turning into one of the heartless jerks who fill this town? But strangely that reason hasn't kept me from running away, or as I should say, trying to run away.

It seems that no matter how much I prepare for my escape, or how far I make it, my father is always one

step ahead of me. This time I managed to get about a kilometre out of the town limits before the cops

showed up and gave me a lift to the station. They led me into the newly re-furbished waiting room. It looked a lot better than it usually did. The walls (which were usually filled with holes and scribbles) were now a rich blue colour. And there were new magazines on the low coffee table. I was glad, the old magazines were dated over a year before. There were also several new chars lined up against the walls. the

only reason I actually cared about how the place looked was because:

I spend a lot of time here

And

My dad was probably the one who paid for all of it.

It would certainly explain why the cops are always siding with him. Stupid, untrustworthy policemen, it's like you can't trust anyone but yourself here. Luckily my favourite blue chair was still there amongst the new ones, so I picked up a magazine and plopped down. I opened the book and read until my dad arrived. When he entered the room I could practically see the fire in his eyes. As dad made his way across the room, I noticed one of the officers bringing in a guy I had never seen before, the boy seemed to be around my age, tall, dark hair, and a handsome face. But despite his attractive appearance, he had a cold aura around him that said: 'I'm a loner, I don't want to talk.' I was still looking at the boy when dad started yelling at me. Every time I end up there, he gives me the same lecture. If I wanted to, I could probably recite it to myself and same him the trouble. The boy looked over his shoulder and gave me a blank stare that sent shivers through my whole body. As the policeman led him off, I wondered why he was even in here, it could have been anything, he could have-"Lucy! Are you even listening to me?" Damn.

He was still at it as we exited the building and got into the old Cadillac, 'blah, blah, blah insolence, blah, blah, blah uncivilized, blah, blah, blah etc.' if this happened to Gajeel, he wouldn't have been talking for more than five minutes. He always preferred my older brother to me or Wendy. The perfect twenty-year old son, business degree in university, just as successful as he ever was. At least he treats Wendy decently; she doesn't deserve to be treated like dad treats me. When I think about it, I don't really deserve to be treated like this either, but my dad has the twisted impression that it's my fault that mum died.

It was roughly six years ago, Wendy was barely a year old, Gajeel was fourteen, I was nine. We were all sitting at the table eating breakfast, my plate was stacked high with warm, perfectly browned pancakes, Gajeel had a large bowl of cereal and both my parents were eating plain bagels with black coffee. I was a few bites into my breakfast when I realized I needed something to drink; I got down from my chair and started towards the refrigerator. My jerk of a brother must have seen what I was doing, because leapt to the floor, sprinted past me, opened the door and drank what was left of the milk straight from the carton. I gave him the dirtiest I could muster, all he did was stick his tongue in my face and say,

"Ya snooze ya loose twerp!" he then walked back to the table and went back to his cereal. I looked over at dad, who was reading the business section of the daily newspaper, he would be no help in this case. I closed the fridge and shuffled to my seat, mum cleared her throat, and we all looked up at her. She spoke to dad, "it seems we're out of milk, I'm going to take Lucy to the store to get some more." She gave me a wink, I don't think I've ever loved her as much as I did at that moment, "but Layla"- my dad started- "we're in the middle of breakfast!" "It won't take more than a few minutes" my mom replied with a smile, she was right, I mean the store was only a couple blocks away. My father eventually agreed, so me and mum grabbed our shoes and left the house.

As we strolled down the walk I took a moment to take in how beautiful my mother was; warm brown eyes, detailed features, full lips and fine blonde hair. Out of the three of her children, I was the only one to inherit her hair. She noticed me staring and turned to look at me, she chuckled and I gave her a loving smile.

That was when all heck broke loose.

In what must have been seconds, my mother's laughter, which had often reminded me of a bird's song, turned into a shriek of horror, she pushed me away, I fell flat on my face. And when I got up there was a truck where I was standing moments before.

My mother was nowhere in sight.

I don't remember much after that; I can only guess that my brain is cutting off the painful memories. Although, I can still roughly see somebody coming out of a house, sirens and, I remember someone screaming… It may have been me. Everything is blurry, except for one exceptionally clear memory; dad had just appeared on the scene, and paramedics were taking care of the men in the vehicle and examining mums body. He looked mum, then me, never in my life had I seen dad look so devastated, the next words that came out of his mouth have haunted me ever since.

"It should have been you."

That's all he said, he didn't say it angrily, or sadly, he just… said it.

And so here we are six years later, everything has changed. Dad expanded his business and made enough money so that we could move into the rich part of the country. My brother no longer wanted to be around the family, my little sister who used to be a happy bouncy baby was now a young girl who mostly kept to herself, her best friend? A stuffed cat named Charles.

And the little nine-year old girl, who wanted nothing more than a glass of milk that warm summer morning, was long gone.