At first, I thought this was the end…everything was on fire…my left eye hurt like hell…then I fell backward and died…or so I thought…

I remember when it all happened…a night when I was up and watching TV. It was five weeks after the breakup…

I look at the clock when the TV had a commercial going on, something about food and parties-both seem so bland now. I read the clock and almost choke on the rest of the ramen noodles still in my mouth. It was 1:00am, I've been up all night! I panic because at 7:00am I had to leave for dance class, and if my parents found out I'd stayed up ‘till one, I'll never hear the end of it. I turned off the TV, grabbed the ramen noodles and threw them away. As I walked softly to my room, I made sure that I kept an eye on my parent's door. It was like at any moment that I looked away, they'd open it and catch me sneaking back into my room. It was hard to imagine my parents wide awake just waiting to catch me in the act of rebelling, but it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary for them. I've done it so many times without them catching me, and even after the last party when I swore to never go out again, I was never caught. Just my luck, the moment when I had the worst night of my life was the night my parents finally decided not to make it worse. I loved my parents, but they can be pretty controlling sometimes, especially when it comes to my dance lessons. I close the door softly behind me, making sure that I didn't let go of the door knob before I could hear the soft click, then silence. I was relieved to see that my alarms were already set on my phone and I hadn't entirely forgotten about tomorrow's plans. Turning off the little white swan lamp on my nightstand, I curl up in the sheets and close my eyes. Within minutes, sleep is easy to find and I slowly start to melt away in the darkest parts of my subconscious where dreams are the most scarce.

I heard a crash in the other room, but I was so tired, I barely saw what was going on. I blacked out, and after a few moments I could open my eyes just to see my door slowly opening and letting some light into my room. I couldn’t see who opened it, just this dark silhouette of a tall person. I blacked out again, and I couldn’t open my eyes for a while. I felt hot, the stench of smoke was starting to thicken around me. I couldn't open my eyes, but I could tell that the fire was in the kitchen near the living room area. If I didn't get up, it would spread quickly towards my room and then my parents. I tried to get up, but something heavy was on top of my legs. It was burning me, and no matter how much I tried to squirm to break free, I couldn't get it off of me. I could feel myself blacking out again, and I tried to get myself to snap awake. I failed, and by the time I woke up, the smoke was even thicker. I realize that I'm on the floor, I could feel the soft carpet as I grip onto it for support. I could open my eyes now, but it didn't help, the smoke was so thick that the light from before was barely visible. Knowing that I needed to get out, I crawled towards my bedroom door and pushed it as wide as I could in order to see if my parents were nearby. I looked to my left where their door was, but it was closed. I couldn't hear anything, no screams, no cries for help. My parents had to have smelled the smoke, why wouldn't they be out of their room? I needed to see if they were okay, but as I was halfway to their door, one knee supporting my body to move up and my hand just about to grab hold of the doorknob, I fell to the ground. My body goes limp, and I black out. When I woke up, the air around me was growing too thin, and a few coughs escaped from my dry lips. I felt like someone was watching me, but when I opened my eyes and turned around, I couldn't see anyone. I turned back to the door to my parents room, and I could barely hear someone banging on the door. I could hear the faint sounds of my parents' voices. My mother was crying, and my father was yelling, both voices mixed together in horrific collage. I reached out in an attempt to open the door, praying that I wouldn't black out this time. My actions were prevented, as my voice was horse and incoherent. I felt someone pulling my legs, and I'm slowly dragged away from the door. I screamed and tried to free myself from whoever this person was, clawing at the floor and edges of the walls. The person who dragged me had suddenly decided to let me go. I push myself back onto my feet and instantly regret it. The smoke was now blinding me from recognizing the area I was in, but I could just make out the couch that I was lounging on earlier, not too far away from my left side. I look up in front of me to see the dark figure that I had seen previously in my room. Before I could start to back away, he pounces on me, and I struggle not to fall onto the ground. His grip tightened on both my arms and I could feel his hot and sticky breath as he breathed in double time. "Le...Let, let go!" I yell. Just as those words came out, something bright shoots out around me and he doubles back with a yelp of pain. Finally out of his grip, I back away and trip over something, causing me to fall onto the ground. I heard a crash in the kitchen, and the tall dark figure came back with something in his right hand. I tried to crawl backwards, but he was on top of me before I could blink. Just as he’s raising the long silver object with which I mistook for a knife. The tip of it lights up with a flame of blue and the whole kitchen behind us alights with golden flames. I could finally see his face, I could see the desperation in his eyes. At first, I couldn’t believe it, and I didn’t want it to be true. I gasp out a soft plea, and he brings the long silver torch lighter down into my left eye. It burned, and I screamed, but the more I screamed the more the lighter twisted and was pushed deeper into my eye. I tried to lift my hands up to somehow stop him from continuing this torture, but it backfires. He uses his free hand to grab my throat and start choking me. The burning didn’t stop, the lighter felt like it sunk in deeper and was now breaking through my skull. Between the thick smoke in the air and his nails digging into my throat, there was no way I could continue on fighting back much less breathe. I felt the scorching and burning metal in my eye for what felt like an hour until the feeling started to fade. I saw the bright light of the flames consume the living room, and both the lighter and the man retreated away into the darkness behind me. I couldn’t move any part of my body at this point, I couldn’t breathe and my non-scorched eye was fluttering until it was fully closed. My body shudders until the last breath leaves my body-or at least I assumed it was my last breath. I passed out before the whole building was consumed into flames, and the whole world decided to turn off the oxygen when I needed it most.

I didn’t want it to end this way, and I wanted him to suffer as much as I did when I died…

…but I guess that’s how my story was supposed to go…I get killed by my ex-boyfriend…die tragically with my parents…and he gets away with it…but turns out…that was only the beginning.

I wake up, slowly, but only my right eye opens. I’m on the ground, my body positioned on my right side, facing a pile of burnt wood planks. I realize it’s my desk, now a pile of burnt crap, and I sit up to get a better look at the rest of the debris around me. As far as the sidewalk and streets connecting together around the apartment in the shape of a giant square, piles of debris and ash, and burnt pieces of the apartment, were scattered around me. As for myself, I was covered only slightly with dark ash. I was in my pajamas, but they didn’t look burnt or torn from the fall I must have been through in order to be on solid ground and not in the apartment. I looked down at my hands, my skin was unblemished and slightly covered with ashes. I touched my hair, only the ends felt burnt, but the rest was still intact and soft. When I should have been burnt alive and my flesh should have turned into dried up scales, here I am looking like I just rolled around in ashes for less than a minute. I frantically look around, standing up and already regaining my balance. For someone who was in her apartment being tortured and left for dead while the whole building burned to the ground, I had a miraculous recovery. Well, almost miraculously, my left eye wasn’t opening.

It was morning, the sky was an abalone gray and the sun was a pasty yellow. I didn’t think that I’d see a sky so gray like this, much less today. It makes me feel like none of the events that happened last night ever did happen. I had half a mind to turn around and be surprised by my friends who thought it would be funny to play cruel pranks on me while my parents were out on a business trip or something. Not to my surprise, no one was there. I couldn’t be more disappointed-but at the same time, it’s not that surprising. Why the hell would I consider the possibility that this wasn’t real? I’m not that naïve…well, I was when I thought that my ex wouldn’t go out of their way to burn the fucking apartment down with me and my family in it. Police tape covered around the edges of where the building once stood, moving a little bit when a breeze picked up. All the bodies were removed, leaving shadows and hints of where they were found. I didn’t have much of a shadow to look down at, and it didn’t really matter. I walked around, searching for my belongings, before finding in the ruble, my locket. It was a little dirty from the ashes, but the gold chain still shone, along with the small white pearl rose attached to the golden circle locket with a white quartz swan engraved on it.

I retreat to that memory, when it was gifted to me by my parents after a performance I did at the Boston Opera House. I remember it clearly, I was only fifteen. I was nervous for my first performance, and I could still feel my heart beating hard inside my chest. I was playing the part of Odette from “Swan Lake '' and although I had practiced for this moment since the beginning of the year, I was so scared. In the end, I performed on stage and I made the whole theater roar with applause. After that, I kept a picture of me and my parents in the locket, remembering that if it wasn’t for them-after all, they paid for my lessons-I wouldn’t have been so successful.

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I wanted to cry after seeing the necklace…

I never should have lived…

Even though I’m alive, in some way, I didn’t feel scared or distraught. I just felt alone…

After collecting my thoughts together, I knew I had to leave soon, or else be spotted and dragged away and placed into some hospital or something. I wanted to stay a little longer, but I couldn’t bear to live within the confines of some place without the comforting eyes of my parents. I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for the police to find out that my ex had killed both my parents and some of the residents in the apartment in an attempt to kill me. I didn’t want to see any doctors, therapists, police and investigators all staring at me as if I was a modern piece of art trying so hard to understand. I’m not some sort of science project that’s gonna help them with their research. And even if I did help them, it’s not like they’d return the favor. They’d send me packing my bags to the nearest mental hospital that’s out here in the city. So, I stuffed the necklace in my pajama pocket and ran away from the scene. I was barefoot for a while, but I managed to find my friend’s apartment. I broke in through the window to her room, thankful that it was in an alleyway and I could just jump onto the trashcans to get in. I slid through the window and my feet landed gently onto the faded pink carpet. The room looked almost like my room, minus the neon pink walls, the glowing vanity table and the dozens of stuffed animals placed in each corner of the room. I closed the door after making a quick check inside the house to see if anyone was there. I grab a dark navy-blue long sleeve crop top, a pink fading to light blue jacket, black jeans and black boots. Quickly, I changed into the clothes and, taking the necklace and wrapping the chain around my neck before closing the small lobster-claw pin onto the circular loop that connects the necklace, I threw my clothes into the dumpster below the window I came out from. When I heard the front door close from the hallway, I jumped out of the window and landed onto the trash cans. Without turning back, I ran through the streets, and I kept running until I was out of the bustling city.

I finally stopped running, thankful that I wasn’t particularly in the middle of nowhere now. There on the left of the street was a gas station surrounded by fields of dried up grass and rusty metal fences. I quickly walked into the store, but quickly hid between the isles until the store clerk went into the back of the store. I snuck around the isles and into the bathroom, then checked the stalls to see if anyone was in there. I turn around to the sink and jump when I look in the mirrors. I saw my reflection through the grimy mirrors, yet it was like it had been years since I last saw myself. A part of myself wanted to say that I didn’t change, that I was still myself. Still pretty, still had my father’s calming blue eyes and my mother’s light blonde hair. If I turned to face my right side, maybe that would be true. However, my left eye was fused shut and burnt to a dark mulberry red crisp. I had the urge to peel it open, but knowing it was painful to even touch it, I just covered it up with my hair instead. With my hair over the eye, it was pretty clear that it wouldn’t be long until they realized my identity. I needed a new look, and probably a shower. I smelled like burned wood and metal, anyone within a mile radius would sniff me out before I could run. My clothes weren’t exactly hiding material either, but then again, it’s my own fault for choosing to rob my friend’s apartment who has only fashion statement clothes. All I’m thankful for is that my face wasn't all disfigured, but at the same time, it would probably be better to hide my identity if it was. One blue eye would work, I didn’t need to showcase the other, and I didn’t need to stay in one place long enough for people to look closely at me. I didn’t need to look like my normal self, and there wasn’t a need to do so. Then why was I still here looking at the mirror trying to pretend to look normal? Maybe because I was trying so hard not to think about everything that happened. Maybe because I wanted to retreat behind that wall I decided to build so that I would be protected from the burning truth. I realized that there's no time to try to remember the past, and there's certainly no time to spend my whole day here staring at a mirror with a “dead girl" looking back at me. I ran back out, and walked around for a while.

Hours of walking turned into days, and soon a week passed…I got my hair dyed again, making the burnt tips a light ombre blue, but leaving my white-blonde hair the same color. I’m pretty sure that the hairdresser was high, so it didn’t matter if she recognized me or not. At least she was sober enough to do the job right. I was tempted to get some facial piercings done, but considering how many the hairdresser had on and how it affected her physically, I decided not to. I dodged the bullet on that one, there’s a whole lot of trouble to do one piercing, having many would just be more of a waste of money. You might ask how I managed to get money when I’m considered “at large” or “missing”. It’s not that hard to think over, I’m pretty sure you’ve already guessed it. Black marketers. To be fair, it wasn’t my first option, I had figured the nice donut shop would be interested in hiring someone who looks like the missing girl on TV to work the night shifts. And it could have been way easier. However, I needed big money now, and working for that long just to afford an airplane ticket to the nearest city isn’t worth the trouble. On a plus note, I just stole antiques and shit, nothing too completely down the line of criminal warfare. From rustic pots to glass China sets, I just take it, sell it, and go with lots of cash in my hand. I only steal from abandoned homes or antique stores in the middle of the night when nobody would suspect someone to break in. I thought, if I could sneak out of my house and break into my friend’s apartment, this should be easy. It wasn’t easy, and it’s pretty obvious that it isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’ll admit that I was wrong that it was a mistake to think that it was going to be easy. But I won’t ever admit that becoming a thief was a bad idea. It’s a rough job, but it’s better than other “career paths” I could have chosen and will not name because of how stupid they are if you think about it. Also, as a thief, I never stay in one place, and I’ll have enough money to travel. The benefits for being a thief, in my opinion, are a lot more crucial than the stakes. Also, with being a full working member of the black market, I’ve made some friends that could cover my tracks in case the investigators and police were still looking for me…which they were.

The news caught on about the further investigation of my death. They never found my body, and the detectives suggest that I’m still alive. They tried for at least two months, searching everywhere for me, but the case ended after that. Some people had their theories about me, others claimed to have seen me, but either way, no one believed them. I became famous for at least three to five months until everyone became obsessed with other news. I really didn’t care, plus, traveling from town to town was getting boresome…and then…something occurred to me, that I didn't really think about. When I walked past a store full of TVs, their screens held onto a picture of someone I recognized. I inch a bit closer to the glass, and my breath catches in my throat. That boy, a childish brat, and a party goer that never seems to know where the boundaries are even when it’s right in his face. That boy, who was once the love of my life and then betrayed me…was missing.

Police had suspected that he might have been involved with my death and the death of my parents, but nobody did any research on him and dismissed the idea. Now that there's a chance that the police could do some further investigating on his part...no. No-this isn't what they were going to do after all. The lady on the TV reporting the story says that the investigators and police that have both worked on my case have again dismissed the possible theories and will not go back into my case again. They will, however, try to find him, and will work on getting as much information out of any of the suspects they've gathered from his neighborhood to see if there's any leads.

…Bummer. I guess it's all up to me now.

After two months and thirty days of wandering around with regret and emptiness, they finally threw me a chance. I could have found him, the one who started all of this...and then they just took that chance away from me. They've pretty much burned the trail, left barely any traces that are enough for people to lead on. They're doing everything in their fucking power, to stop anyone from getting too close to him. But why? What could he have possibly done besides ruining my life to make these guys so anxious to keep him away from the world? And who’s responsible for this? Is it one guy or many?

Once I’ve passed the window, I had a list of ideas I had thought through. First, I’ll get information about him, all of it. Anything that helps me with my research to find him, I’ll gather-maybe even have to pry out people's greedy cold fingers. Second, I’ll blackmail a cop who’s got access to every case in the system, including mine. Third, I’ll buy a gun, nothing too fancy, and easy to use. I’ve had some practice with one, so it’s not too hard to hold and fire one. Fourth, I’ll locate where he’s hiding and break in. Fifth…I’ll make him suffer until he feels exactly how I felt when he took away my life. Sounds pretty cliché, but the thing about revenge is to make the karma of the person who caused you and/or your loved ones harm fifty times worse for them. So in other words, I won’t just be killing him…I’ll make myself known to him by hunting him down until every single bit of his mental stability is burned to the ground.