I'm Alive

By

Dragon with a Shotgun

I really wasn't sure where to put this, since its is a story I made up, not based on any movies. But I did get my inspiration from Left 4 Dead. None of the characters in the game are in this story. This is my story, one I made up on my own. Enjoy!

Prologue

"Fire and life are two similar things." That's what my grandmother used to say. "They can be warm and pleasing, nice to have, but they can also be painful and cruel, dangerous. Fire can destroy, and will eliminate everything in its path. But it can also be itself exterminated, just as life can be. Life has its ups and downs, has its turns and stops. No one can tell for sure where it goes, or what fate lies in their lives. But one thing is for sure. Life has its strange ways of making things happen, whether if they are for the better, or the worse."

When my grandma told me this, I didn't quite understand. I was only ten. Unexperienced, young, and not sure of the world. I didn't understand much at all in fact. No one ever told me anything, for what reason I didn't know of. I didn't know evil. I didn't know what drugs were, what sex was, didn't even know what nightmares were. I lived in such a quiet world, had no imagination. Nothing ever happened in my home, no excitement, no birthday parties, no cookouts, no visitors to laugh and talk to, nothing… I had a silent life, and in school I never spoke to anybody. I had very few friends. My family was rich, but nobody ever knew that. I never told anybody, despite my mother's eager attempts to talk to the male teachers at school about her 'single life'.

She, Isabella James, was married to my father, Mason James. She only carried him around like a handicap though, pretended that he wasn't there, despite his hard efforts to stay on his feet at work. He was a mechanic at an old factory, although I forgot what his company made, or what it was even called. All I knew was that he went to work with oil stained overalls in a cab and came back with almost black, greasy skin and even more stained overalls. I can still remember what he smelled like. He smelled of smoke, oil, grease, and sweat from a hard day's work. He worked so hard to please my mother, but with little success. That damn woman was never easy to please. She wanted only the highest quality of things, to the shiniest of diamond necklaces, to the brightest and showing of dresses. She wanted the high dollar stuff, the things that attracted the other men. I never knew how she made money. She only left the house around when the sun set over behind the Stature of Liberty, whenever it was dark and the stars shined at night. I never knew where she went, and sometimes she wouldn't come home for days.

My brother, Noah, was a lot older than me. He was at least 18 years old, an adult and able to do whatever he wanted, go anywhere he wanted to go. He was never home a lot, always laughing with his friends and going illegally into bars. At least I think it was illegal… But heck, I don't remember.

My grandma, though, was my real family. My cousins didn't live anywhere near us. Lived down south near Dallas, Texas. So, grandma was the only one I could run to if I needed help. She used to tell me stories about what could happen to us in the future. She had told them so well, that I thought that she was actually predicting it! But I know now that she never was, but still, I like to go back and remember those tales. She told of wars going on, even if it was after WW 2 and Civil War. She told me that I needed to be careful of the world, to be wary of what could happen.

She also did simple things, too. She used to brush my hair, used to say, "Oh your hair is so beautiful, child. So beautiful the way it shines, the way that red and smoothness goes so well together and the way it makes your blue eyes stand out… I wish I had hair like yours again. You should take better care of it, or it will tangle and be messy."

Of course I did the best I could, but somehow I would let it get messy, just so I could have an excuse to hear her tell me stories, to hear her feeble, calm, soothing voice. Her voice was so nice to hear after a lonely day of school and nothing to do around the house. She always lightened up my days, made them seem to be worth living.

People would think that life in New York would be fun, an awesome experience. But not for me. I was used to all the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets, the honking and blasting of horns on the roads, the shouting of people on the sidewalks angry at each other for knocking one's stuff out of their hands, all of it. Life was dull, nothing to do. New York was just… too small. My mind wandered out of New York many times, questioning what was outside of the loud city. I wondered if my grandma's stories were ever true, about the wars and all. It didn't seem logical. People got into fights all the time outside on the streets and afterward they'd brush it off and go about their ways. Rarely cops were called unless the fight got too serious. You'd think that it was normal, and would be pointless to start a war.

The thing that really captivated me in New York was all the lights that shined and twinkled around the city. Every night I'd sit at my window of our apartment, saying nothing, and staring out our window. Some nights I'd hear my mother screaming at my father about something, but I'd just sit there, staring in a trance at the light board that changed from different images, the lights from tall towers and other buildings, and the glow that radiated off the city and into the sky. But as I watched, a tear would slip down my cheek.

As I looked at the city, it began to melt away. The lights began to dim, and the glowing faded away into a memory. The busy streets became quiet, still, empty. That was when I would be happy. No noise, no screaming, nothing. I was content, I was happy. Nothing could tear me away from that spot. I even slept at the window, and was patted awake by my grandma the next morning whenever it was time to get ready for school. I'd get dressed in a white t-shirt, blue plaid skirt, white knee-high socks and black strap shoes. That was what we wore in school, our uniforms. I went to a large school, but I forgot how many kids were in it… I know that there were few teachers, and more male teachers than other schools.

I went to the end of my sidewalk that ran up to the stairs that lead to my floor. I stood there for what seemed like hours. But after only a few minutes, I'd spot my bus. The new bright yellow-orange paint on the bus would glow in the morning sunlight. I'd already be able to hear the children screaming, laughing, and shouting. But I wouldn't be one of those kids.

Already I could hear Gracie's voice. Gracie was one of my only friends. She was quiet too, but she talked much more than I would. I'd let her do all the chatting, and she was happy to do it. She didn't judge me just because I was a mute. She'd tell me about her new puppy, her picnic she had at the park, the new TV show that she watched the previous night. Anything that came to mind.

I could hear her now…

"Hannah! Hannah, come on!"