Chapter One
What do you do when everyone you know dies but you?
What do you do when all you know is pain and despair?
What do you do?
What, what can you do?
My name is Mona Ella Meyer and my life has been nothing but pain, just ruthless pain. Life is nothing but one thing to my father. Life is like any other product. It can be thrown aside and it can be held close by. It is disposable.
At the young and helpless age of five, my dear brother Benjamin was killed. To the knowledge of any other on the sidelines, he died bravely. He was said to be murdered by a thief in the mansion trying to steal my father's gold. He was defending and protecting the King, our father. He died a knight's death. He died with honor. But truly, his death was a lie.
I saw him die at the helpless age of five. He was in father's chamber discussing what was supposed to be the security plans around the city barriers. I didn't fully hear their discussion because it was cut short. What I did hear was them arguing about something. I heard the name Dona. I had never heard such a name in my life before that day. It came to my knowledge as time passed; Dona was the root cause for everything wrong in my life.
It was a heated argument. The gentle brother I knew with all my heart was red as a cherry. The veins in his head and neck were popping up to the surface under his skin. The majestic voice he got from his father boomed through the room and halls like thunder. The knuckles on his soft large hands were snow white and shook with anger. The bones of his body were ridged and jerky, totally out of control. He was just so angry, throwing papers into the air to scatter on the floor, pushing books off the shelves to crash upon the marble tile; throwing his hands in the air making some point that I did not understand. He was rabid. He was really shaking with fury like I have never seen. He was such a gentle person. He was my closest and only true ally. I couldn't think of anything that could make him so angry to scream out like never before.
In the middle of the heated discussion, I was spotted by him. He stopped his rampage almost instantly. The color nearly left him completely. His voice was almost entirely gone. Through the small crack upon the door, I stood tall enough to be exactly the height of the doorknob. I was so small. Only he could have spotted me because like any true brother, he would always be looking for me at heart.
Keeping clenched fists so tight that he shook even more, he starred down at the floor embarrassed. I knew he wasn't trying to make a scene. His eyes wandered over the mess he made and down to the feet of his father and to the crack of the open door. Swaying to and fro, uneasy, he finally took a deep breath and kept his head down low.
I didn't see my father's face but his broad strong shoulders under his cloak. I didn't see him react at all when my brother started walking slowly away from him to the door. My brother mumbled something so low that I couldn't hear, but his eyes were on me.
Heading for the door, he smiled one of those brotherly smiles that he had. He looked ready for my questions like always. He always seemed more relaxed when away from everything. He was 3 feet from the door when my father mumbled something. It was a mix between the words 'betray' and 'ashamed' but he turned around. He had the same exact look he had when he would kill a simple slave. His eyes looked blank and faded like he wasn't even there.
Whatever he said, my brother froze. He stared at me with fear. His eyes were wide and he went deathly pale. Through quivering lips he mouthed a message. I got the words 'run' and 'don't come back'. The water in his eyes glistened and shimmered, running down his cheeks.
I never saw my father pull out his gun that was specially made. I never heard that click of a loaded gun. I never heard the horrible bang of a fired pistol. I only saw my brother's body shoot forward on the tips of his toes, his hands fly to the blood showered wound upon his heart, him fall to his knees, and the crimson red. That red was all I could see. It was on my dear brother, it was on the floor, and the walls. That red was a symbol of death. That red was so ugly.
I swore my heart was the banging of a drum. It was so loud. My breathing was a strong wind outside a window. It took all of me not to dash into that room and clutch my brother in my arms and beg and plead to the lord to not take him, but he was already dead. I knew it was the cold truth but couldn't believe it. My eyes wandered around the floor following the blood river to the feet of my father and up. I saw the gun. I saw the blood upon his robes. I saw his eyes and he saw mine.
I ran. I ran and ran and ran. I went down curving halls, down winding stairs, through libraries and sitting rooms. I ran from room to room to room. In each room I found nothing. I don't know what I was looking for in the rooms but none of them had it. I knew I was being chased. I knew it. I could hear the slow taps of his royal slippers. I could hear the flap of his cloak. Most of all, I could hear my heart beat faster and faster with each empty room. There wasn't an escape from what I saw or from what was behind me.