Fire blazing before my eyes. My house, my room... my family. Everything is caught in the inferno that I used to live in. Not anymore. Many people crowd outside, submerging me in even more heat. Screams come from no ones mouth but my own. Salty tears are quickly dropping from my eyes, and I don't bother trying to hide them. There would be no point. Firemen stormed the house, sprayed the death-trap near the base, but to no avail. My life is as good as over. When they all realize how swiftly the pyre is beginning to devour the surrounding area, the flames already licking at the apartment building next to it, they panic. Throughout this traumatic experience, the sky had been preparing to rescue us in its own way; rain. Every soul had been so utterly focused on the luminous two story building, burning bright and strong, that it came as a surprise when little droplets of cloud began to fall in there faces, dampening the hard cement, my sorrow left unnoticed, and dousing the burning hot cinders. After a few minutes, the rain began to spill faster, eliminating what remained of the disaster. I finally closed my eyes against the burn they felt, but instead of being greeted by darkness, all I saw was the orange, red and light blue of the flames that would cause me immense suffering as long as I continued to live. I could feel a sudden chill as the crowd split, allowing one of the men who arrived on the large red truck to approach me. He crouched down in order to look me in the eyes, to tell me he was sorry, to take me somewhere 'safe.' At this point, I really didn't care. I just wanted the pain in my heart to vanish. I could feel a slight pressure against my upper arm, my instincts telling me to fight back, my body too exhausted to listen. I just blindly followed in my grieving. I was set down in a hard seat, and quickly succumbed to the wonderful numbness of a blissful sleep.

"W...p."

What?

"Wa...up."

I don't understand.

"WAKE UP!"

SMACK!

"Owowowowowowowowowow," I mutter under my breath, rubbing the sore spot on my forehead where I smacked it on a shelf.

"Dad says you need to get up and make breakfast before school today, Katie," an older boy told her in a 'HA! I don't have to do it and YOU do!' kind of voice.

"Shut up, Cadince. I'll be out in a minute." I told him with a yawn. He gave a quick, jerky nod and ran out of my room. Most days, I would have put up a little more of a fight, but this one time, I was actually thankful to have been woken up during my lone escape from reality. I have the same dream once every few weeks, and I can never seem to forget the night that changed my entire future. The night my mom, dad, two older brothers, and younger twin brother and sister died in a bonfire we called our house. I was the sole survivor, only because I left for a short walk after having an argument with my parents and over something trivial, no less. That happened when I was only six years old, and now I'm just over fifteen.

Cadince, the boy who woke me up, is already eighteen. He has dark brown hair that is slicked back to his head and is cut at chin length. His eyes are similarly dark and blend in with his tanned skin. Though he isn't all that smart, he has quite a few friends and a girlfriend. I, on the other hand, am not so lucky. I have dark, sandy blond hair that goes down to my mid-back. I have luminous, orchid colored eyes that all but glow in my snow white skin. Cadince is 6 1", while I'm a meager 5 4". He is more brawn than brain, and I'm... well, smart. That leaves me to weigh a whole 72 pounds.

Ever since the incident, I've been living with my uncle and cousin on the other side of the United States. I have to do all the cooking, cleaning, yardwork, and anything else that may need to be done around the apartment buildings that my uncle owns and runs. Though its only an apartment, we have two floors of the main building for ourselves. In other words, twelve useless rooms for us to steal from someone who may be in desperate need of a place to live.

'My life is great' I say to myself, sarcastically of course. While all these thoughts run through the front of my mind, I slowly became aware that I had found my way to the medium sized kitchen, one of the few rooms that is never that hard to clean. Despite the large amount of money we make every month, due to some wise investments on my uncles part, we only have basic kitchen appliances. Except for the one that I would give anything to have; a dishwasher. Our kitchen is the only one without the convenience of not having to do the dishes by hand after every meal. Enraptured by all these negative thoughts, I failed to notice that my aforementioned uncle was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, one that he would be extremely unhappy with since he had been forced to make it himself.

"You're up late," he stated in a deceptively monotonous voice.

"Sorry," I apologize immediately, unthinkingly bowing my head and pleading for the next part to be over with swiftly. I blink and next when my eyes opened, he was standing an inch in front of me, looming a head and a half higher. He glared at me, and with unsuppressed anger, struck me across the right side of my face with the back of his hand. The blow was strong enough to knock me to the poorly tiled floor. Not long after I slid to a stop against a cabinet, I found he was standing in front of me once again. Pain exploded through my small frame, based at my ribcage. He aimed yet another kick at me, this time towards the face, but I've had enough. No, I've had TOO much. I grab his steel clad foot with both my hands and bring the assault to a stop... temporarily. Coming out of the sudden stupor my defense put him in a short few seconds later, he grabs me by the throat and lifts me off the floor. I squirm and writhe in his unrelenting grasp, trying with all my might to find purchase. Finally, I manage to stun him a second time with a hit to a certain area hard enough to permanently make him sterile. Once released from his careless and rough hands, I make a dash to my closet bedroom.

I am only allowed a twin size bed, a small bedside table for desk space and a closet, a lamp, and a chair. The room is a color just off of beige with matching sheets and pillow. There is a single hidden window directly under the corner of the ceiling, hidden under a piece of artwork used for a school project. Swiftly, I change out of my torn sweats and large, stained t-shirt into an outfit I saved up every penny I could in order to purchase from a vendor who was near me that dreadful night. It consisted of a midnight blue tank top that wasn't cut too low down my chest, and it travelled halfway down my thigh. I was also sporting a pair of black cargo pants that I customized to be worn like long shorts. On my feet was a pair of running shoes that were just off white. On each of my hands was a black fingerless glove that ended just before my elbow. As a keepsake, I wore my late mother's pendant around my neck, the gem nestled comfortably in my collar bone. I decided to leave my hair down in small waves, but slightly parted at the side so as to let my bangs cover my right eye, and hurriedly climbed on top of my bed and tore away the construction paper that was my school project. I push open the dust covered window and slide my way out onto the fire escape. Once secured, I all but fall down the steps and ladders down to the ally below.

Escape Status: Success

Or not.

Footsteps are approaching quickly, so I turn on my heel and sprint to the end of the gap between buildings and continue in a random direction. My heart is pounding in my ears and throat, my lungs are on fire, and if I look back to see if I'm still being pursued, it could mean my untimely death. I turn down one last street and come to a stop. Turning full circle, I allow myself a quick sigh of relief. Then an unfathomable pain hits my back and I fall face first onto the cement. The last image my mind managed to interpret for me was that of a man in white with unbelievably long, golden hair.

Edit: I changed my outfit almost completely and corrected my spelling errors, but that's it.