The memories
The water splashed off my face, trailing down my cheeks like tears. I barely cried for 8 years now, and why would I? There's nothing to cry about anymore, for my parents are gone. The Cabal killed them in front of my eyes when I was 7 years old, leaving me to them for 3 years. They kept telling me that I was special. I didn't think I was, but Dr. Harris seemed to think so. Every day I was poked and prodded with needles. My arms looked like I took hardcore drugs at the age of 8. Every time the needle went in, I kicked and screamed for them to stop, but the needles and pills never stopped coming. I had a pretty good run of the place; I could walk around after they knew they could let me off their leash without me running away.
Every day after having a supper and doing my homework, they would take me into a little room and that's when the needles would come out. Every time they took blood and injected me with translucent liquids, I still screamed, thrashed and begged them to let me go. When they were done they would send me to my bleached white room. This went on for 3 painful years. I knew what I was, but I would never ever tell them.
I was asleep in my little white haven: A place where I could be alone, with no needles, or men in jackets the same color of my room, when I heard a muted noise of something exploding. All the rooms there were sound proof, so I couldn't hear anything clearly. I disregarded it, thinking it was just another testing malfunction, when I heard the muffled cries from the staff. Mrs. White's ear shattering cry went right through the padded walls. She was the only nurse there that would treat me as a human. I can honestly say I would cry if she got hurt. All of the sudden, the ceiling started to shake and get tiny cracks in it. I ran into the corner closest to the door, trying to get away from the middle of the room, where the tension would be the worst. The roof crumbled down, letting the top floor meet with the middle. A pair of scissors soared in the air and caught me in the upper- left side of my face, making blood stream into my eye I grabbed the scissors, and held them in my clenched fist. The door to my room opened, and a blurry silhouette was standing in the doorway. It held out its hand, calling my name and to come to him for safety. I was so scared, so I took the scissors and slashed at the figure, felt the scissors make contact with something as the figure grunted, and then ran for my life.