by AsherJayden Wed May 30, 2012 3:10 pm
INTRODUCTION
Have you ever heard the phrase, “what you don’t know won’t hurt you,” or “everything happens for a reason?” Interestingly enough both seem to be true and I can vouch for that.
Things always start out ordinary. There isn’t a care in the world about anything at all until one thing, one person, changes it all. Worst of all, you live your life suspecting things once you figure something out. Nothing matters until you discover something you shouldn’t have. Then it’s a race against time; a race that losing will cost you your life.
And here’s the thing, when you know something you shouldn’t, all hell breaks loose. Suddenly, you’re on thin ice and every step you take is either a step closer to your eternal doom or yet another page to your gloomy story; yet another chapter to your death.
At least, that’s how I felt. Nothing I did seemed to make sense. I just seemed to dig a deeper grave with each action taken. It wasn’t until ‘it’ was all over that all the pieces of the puzzle came together. It all came together once I realized that everything I did, said, led me to this tragic disaster. But to be honest, I still look over my shoulder. I still get paranoid. I always feel like someone’s still watching me. It scares me. I know that none of this would have happened if I had stayed away from him; if I had just kept my distance… But then again, if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.
I’ve never truly known who I was. I was always stuck in this world of oblivion when it came to my true identity. There’s always been a mysterious side of me that I’ve never been able to discover on my own. I don’t quite understand it all. It’s as though there’s a part of me locked away behind a door and the key has been dug up somewhere far and unknown; unreachable. I’d often find myself daydreaming about who I possibly was; what I was, who I involved myself with. I’d ask my parents but neither of them knew anything. No one knows anything about my life before my 15th birthday. We don’t have anything about my past except a birth certificate with my first name and date of birth. My parents always tell me, “don’t live in the past,” but how could I not? “You have a family that loves you. You don’t need to dwell on what you were. Concentrate on who you should be,” my father would tell me.
But of course, he’s not my real father, nor is she my real mother. I was adopted, although I’m not necessarily sure how it happened. All I know is that, once I left the orphanage (which I was supposedly in) everything became a blur. It’s as though nothing happened before that day. One thing I do remember is them asking me questions about my past on the ride home. They’d ask question after question and I was never able to answer them. My mother tells me that the woman in charge of the orphanage ‘stumbled upon me,’ whatever that means.
The woman was cleaning the home in order to receive some possible clients (parents). As she was disposing of the garbage, which was done in the alley to the left of the home, she heard what she thought was crying of a dog. As she neared the crying she realized it was a baby, me. Since that day, I was a child of the orphanage.
Needless to say, I have absolutely no recollection of such event. But there’s a saying, “curiosity killed the cat,” and to my lovely surprise, I became that cat. Only death didn’t want me… Not yet anyway.
and two I want to write a story. So I figured this is a good way to do it. Expect the first post in a few minutes 
