Your Little Stark

Ch•1-A Whole Different Ball Game

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reproduction, distribution, or plagiarism of this story will not be tolerated. the characters in this story who have not originally created by the author or this story belong to marvel. please, no rude comments, this is a place for reading.

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authors note : the cover for this story was made by @Bluedolphin2212 , all the credit goes to their creative and talented photo editing. go check out their page for more. :)

currently rewriting.

***

2008

Blood trickled down her nose. Scarlet blood dripped onto the icy pavement beneath her shattered frame. Blurred figures emerged from the chilled blur that engulfed her vision. Boot steps vibrated against the ground, growing closer and closer by the second. She turned her head to the side, fighting with the little strength she had remaining to catch a glimpse of the over-turned vehicle with a body trapped helplessly on the inside, visible through the shattered passenger window "Co-" she coughed, digging her bloodied and bruised fingers into the asphalt "C-"

A pair of thick, grey boots appeared on her other side, coming to a halt mere inches away from her face. Snow flakes danced across the sky, swirling around the blurred figures head and broad, armored shoulders. A shadow consumed the figure.

Her blue eyes quivered as tears emerged, helpless against the shadow that extended the handgun towards her exposed forehead "m-my baby-" her voice trembled in a ghostly manner, her mind only able to process one thing.

A single shot exploded out, engulfing the quiet, snowy city street with the harsh sting of the weapon before returning to tranquility.

Across town, there was a sharp knock on a classroom door. A short haired principal poked her head through, interrupting a science lesson. The teacher met the principal at the door, then motioned for one student in particular to come forward "bring your stuff" he advised.

I, without thinking to much about the summons, stuffed my yellow water bottle, spiral earth science notebook and dull pencil away into my book bag, then slung both the back pack and my soccer draw-string bag over my shoulders. It contained a freshly washed soccer jersey in preparation for the days afternoon practice. This coming Friday was our game against the West End Wombats.

However, I would not be attending practice that afternoon, nor the game later in the week. In fact, I would never step foot inside of my small Washington D.C Elementary School ever again after that day.

Eyes were on me as I followed the principal to her office. Two people, one male and one female, stood waiting for me by her large desk. They dawned black suits. I glanced back and forth between them, fiddling with the slim straps of my soccer bag.

My mother had been at work. She was a florist in the heart of the city. Owned her own self-made business. Apparently, many politicians and well-established businesswoman and men paid visits to her place quite frequently. Our apartment near Penn Quarter and Chinatown was filled with exotic flowers from all over the world, most prominently, Asian flowers which are my favorite.

I would have probably gone into the floral business myself, if not for the incident. Nothing would ever be the same after that winter morning.

It was after I had left for school. Someone had come into the store with a gun, and demanded money. Of all the places in D.C. that he could have entered, he decided to rob a flower shop. Even after my Mom had given him the entirety of the money in the register, he proceeded to shoot her. She was dead. Just like that.