Parents - April 14, 2011

I was at school, my first week of high school when a lady with brown hair, blue eyes, and dressed as if she was 20 years younger came into my maths class, I didn’t recognise her but she sure knew me.  She called my name with a straight face then led me to the office. I walked slowly and replayed the whole situation in my mind. In the office I saw my dad, he stood and gave me a hug with a solemn face and I instantly realised something was wrong. We left the front gates of the school in utter silence and then once I opened the car door and got in with a squeak that I always laughed dad started muttering something under his breath and then I asked the question that would change my life, all I asked was ‘is she gone’ and all he did was nod.  As we drove to the hospital I really understood what happened and the implications of how my life would change in the long run.  It all faded out as I heard the voice of my dad yelling out at me ‘Cassie, CASSIE you’ve got to get ready for school, come on!’ I replied with a distracted ‘Humph’ as I flicked through the last few pages of the photo album we put together after mum died.  I looked in the mirror and saw myself, the tall, slim, long wavy haired brunette that had no idea about her mother’s death.  That was the one thing I always thought about; how my mother died.
I thought my mother was beautiful with long blonde wavy hair and amazing, striking bright green eyes and a slim curved body that I would have killed anyone for.  This was all part of my daily ritual of getting ready for school, I would look through the photo album that lived in my room next to my bed, then get dressed and then do all the usual school things people my age do like brushing my teeth.
I got to school and my best friend Ruby bounds up to me and reminds me for the fifth time this morning that I needn’t worry about my sixteenth birthday party because she has “got it all underhand!”  Ruby has a crazy and warped view about any party and apparently she says it has to be the most extravagant thing you have ever been to in your life. I on the other hand, think for a party to be good all you have to make sure of, is that everyone is having lots of fun.
As I finished my last lesson of the day my mum came back into my mind rasping random words like ‘Duck, shoot, farm, gun, game, dog, cow, die, Cassie, Dan and weather’ the words were really weird and I thought I could make a message out of it, I thought that it said something about a farm and some farm animals, my dads name and my name, nice weather and some gun shots.  It was a really vague idea but the words could of meant anything, at the time I was more scared than anything so I didn’t think about them and what they could mean right then.   
When I got home my dad was there waiting for me, and he told me that we had to talk.  I sat down and he told me that my mum and I had a special connection, we could talk through our brains!  At the moment I wasn’t experienced so we could only talk one word at a time but later on we could probably talk in full sentences.  At that moment another word came into my mind ‘Wednesday’, I was startled but I replied to my mum saying ‘yes. Wednesday. Is. My. Birthday.’  But we both knew that the meaning of the word she said was much more than just my birthday.  My dad and I sat in silence once I told him about the one word my mum had sent to me, we were thinking about what it meant.  But before I even thought about moving my lips four words came out of my mouth, ‘how did she die?’ My dad said only two words ‘gun shot.’  We talked for a few hours and I found out that she died on a farm, someone had shot her but the police never found out who killed her.
That night I thought long and hard about her murder, it gave me chills and made me feel sad both at the same time.  Now that I knew about my mum I was worried about the facts; who killed her and why, was she involved in some gang? I had no idea to the answer but I knew I wanted to find out. 
A few weeks went by with my dad acting all suspicious and I finally worked up the courage to ask him who killed her and he looked at me and asked ‘who do you think?’ I screamed and ran to my room crying.  I pondered the thought and finally went and asked him why he killed her and he screamed with anger ‘She didn’t love me anymore because I’m Indian and she was depressed and told me her family never liked me from the start, but then I asked her to marry me and that tipped her family over the edge and they never talked to her again.’ That killed me on the inside so I killed her out of anger.  I cried. I slept, ate, drank, and slept for the next month, then I tipped I couldn’t control myself. So I screamed, my dad came into my room, his gun in his right hand ready to shoot.

It all came to an end, an abrupt ending.
 

-Zoe