6,5,4...3,2,1...

Chapter 1

"6...5...4...!" Rosie half shouted. As soon as she called out the number one, the young girl sprinted across the cobble paths. The evergreen trees hung over her watching her every move, like parents but more scary than kind. If there's one thing she remebered from that day it was that the first person she saw was her best friend, Emilia. Emilia was more of a rough child, which Rosie's parents despised. However, Rosie was too young to notice this. At the time, she was only four years old. 

By the time both girls where 8, Emilia began to notice that she had weird feelings whenever she was around Rosie. With her parents noticing this, they explained love and the strange things it can do to a person. 

---Emilias' POV---

"But when your crazy in love?" Does that make you crazy??" I questioned. A confused look grew on my mothers face and my farther smirked. "I'm crazy in love with your mum but I'm not crazy am I?" He chuckled before winking at my mother. "Your very crazy farther!!" Sprinting off into the living room I giggled. I knew he would be chasing me so continued running. Out in the garden, I could hear his footsteps behind me. They grew louder and louder, nearer and nearer. 

The tall grass covered me like a cloud hiding away the sun. Certianly farther couldn't find me here? Before I could finish my thinking, a face popped out from inbetween the grass strands. "BOO!" He cried out, causing me to scream and giggle playfully. Little did I know, that was the last time I would ever smile like that around my farther again.

Gradually, my farther became more angry and would snap at the smallest things. Whether it was the alcohol or my mother constantly being out the house, I'm not sure. We tend to blame certain things on alcohol, but in this situation, I am certian that it had something to do with my mother. You see, my farther could go a whole week without alcohol and he would still be angry and violent. However, thinking back, the alcohol did play a part in the events of my childhood that made it a disaster. The smashing of beer bottles against the wall, the horrid smell of beer that stung your nose as you breathed in the air, the constant shouting and fighting. It all gets too much one day. Once or twice I attempted to run away. To escape. It never worked. They always caught me, promised me they would try to stop. Promised a better, happier life. Promises shouldn't be made if you can't keep them.