I had done it. I had run away. There was no turning back, but even if I did, my stupid foster family wouldn’t want me. I had sworm to my blood, slit my arm to seal the note. I didnt know what I was really called. I had always despised the name Silivia.With that hiss, every time I was called I knew it wasn’t good so I gave myself a name. Dew Cresent. That was my mother’s maiden name. And I was going to find my brother, confront him, and make him pay for our mother’s seperation, so I went to my sister, only seven years younger, at the age of eight, she had understood everything. She had understood that Stef had slashed our mother. But he had a reason for that. She was drugs, and couldn’t stop. Stef got frustrated and did it. Right infront of me, when I was nine, holding Baby Misty, both crying. Stef was a fourteen years old high school graduate. And he had him self drop out.
“Mother never loved us. She loved those icky white pills.” Misty said.
Darragh Heights, South Carolina. Cupcake Cliff on Raliegh Beach. 9:52 am
We finally met our stop point. I should’ve mentioned that we were walkin all the way to Stafford League Rugby team in New York. We had a Native friend of the Roanoke tribe of indians. You could say she had nothing, but she was rich with supplies; soil, fish, wild goose, red currants, and kelp. Her name was Melakn’oe yu, or Melanie.
“You make good choise, eh? Make brother sorry like he make mother gone. I show you violence not right answer. See, when there are person kill or hurt by other in tribe, we forgive, but we keep bad memory in mind. So if bad person do again, we banish. However this cause war in tribe. Only I and my elk live.” Melakn’ oe Yu said in uncouth english.