Who am I Chapter 2 by Stacy White 

I open my eyes, startled. I hear screaming, high pitched and scared sounding, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I look around, but everything is a little blurry and distorted. Then I realize that I’m not in my house any more. I don’t know how I got here, but, somehow, this place seems familiar to me. It’s is a small, room, about this size of my house, but with clean, light blue walls and a large, soft, blue rocking chair. There is also a bookshelf, a pretty blue rug, and a large, bright window with soft white curtains. I stand up and walk over to the full length mirror hanging on the wall near the door, and I see a little girl, who looks similar to myself, with the same blue eyes and brown hair, but with soft, chubby cheeks and no scar on their arm, like my little sister would look if I had one. I puzzle at my reflection for a minute, and then I start to smell something. I smell smoke, I sniff again to make sure.That IS smoke, I’ve got to get out of here, and, if possible, put out the fire. I open the door carefully, to make sure it’s safe to go out. It’s not, there’s fire burning the floor, the walls, the ceiling, everything. I just stand in the doorway, unable to move. I am telling my legs to run away, but they won’t listen. The fire creeps up to the doorway, and, right before I am consumed by the flames, my eyes open, and I sit up quickly, looking around. I’m in my house again, safe, with no fire outside the door. I sigh with relief, and then I hear my stomach rumbling loudly, then I remember that I didn’t eat dinner last night, because the dogs made me drop the food that I bought. I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, and grab my old tattered backpack and bow and arrow from the corner of my shack. I shoot small birds and squirrels sometimes when I can’t find an odd job to make money for food. I quietly walk through the crisp Autumn leaves, doing my best not to make any noise that would scare off the game. I look around carefully, scanning the trees. My eyes drift over a gray squirrel slowly, as I mentally aim at its heart, while stringing my bow at the same time. I wish I didn’t have to kill, but since I do, I might as make sure it experiences as little pain as possible. I draw the string of the bow all the way back to my ear, and then I quickly release it. Later that day, I walk back to the shack with three squirrels and a pigeon in my backpack.

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