A Parent's Death: A Short Story

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I should've died that night! Every time I even think about that night, a wave regret washes over me as I too should be dead. It wasn't fair that I got to live and not her; each day is like torture to me. The demon had cut me from her womb and fed me it's demon blood helping me to survive. I have the blood of that thing which killed my mother coursing through my veins and it kills me. I haven't seen her beautiful face, heard her sweet voice or felt her soft hands on my skin, and would image what her presence might feel like. That demon had stripped away my mother and a potentially normal life I would've lived, but instead I was cursed to see the true dangers in society.

I don't know if I'm a constant reminder of my mother's death and that is why my father had tossed me to the side or for some other reason. My father hasn't even had the gratitude to show me a photo of mother or at least described what her personality
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My hair pulses in the wind and the cool soft air circulates around my head. I was heading towards Hibbing, Minnesota where missing people reports had suddenly spiked. It was going to be around an 8 and a half hours drive. I've always drove as to flying, it is too much of a hassle and I doubt they will let someone carry any weapons of any sort on board. Taking one of my hands off the wheel I follow my scar along my eye. I was always self conscious about it, as it was the most confronting scar I've got as many scars canvass my back and run down my arm. Most of them have faded away, but can still be noticed. In the fire that my mother and I were caught up in, it had permanently burnt off my finger prints, leaving scars at my fingertips. Thinking about it my birth was never recorded, my finger prints had never existed and my blood had been manipulated and contaminated. Geez... I hate long drives by myself, I always go into a hole sinking deeper and deeper thinking about confronting
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