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The First Day


August 10 - Martinsburg, West Virginia - State Police Station


It was in the afternoon when I found myself sitting in an interrogation room of the local police station. I was readying myself to answer the numerous questions about finding my parents dead on my sixteenth birthday.

I was sure that they thought I was a suspect. It didn’t help my case that I was covered in blood. Tightly clenching my fists, I tried to recount what I had discovered. But every time I did, I found myself feeling sick to my stomach.

On the table sat the birthday present Mom and Dad had given me. Every year since I was thirteen my parents would give me a brand-new journal. It wasn’t anything fancy.

Just a simple spiral notebook that I would fill up in a year's time with my thoughts and memories, random doodles, and pictures of friends and family. There was always something to write about.

I had made sure not to get it stained with the blood I was covered in. After all, I didn't want my last present from my parents to be ruined from their own blood.