The leaves rustled as they blew around my feet. I was Thirteen years old. Peoples screams filled the church. "Why! Why did this happen?". I looked down, my school socks were muddy, my legs had Goosebumps and I was shivering from the cold. My hair was wet, my school uniform torn. Within an instance, my whole world seemed to stand still. The noise’s around me blurred and for a moment. The only thing I could hear was a cry, a long and fearful cry. My mothers body lay there, as i lent down and put my hand upon hers i felt she was holding something. I took it out of her clenched fist. It was some sort of ancient pendant, silver with an inscription on the back in gold.

The smell around me was something that I was unable to determine. It was a musty smell, almost like blood or rotting flesh. I could however, smell my mothers perfume, only slightly, but it felt stronger then ever because of my complete fixation on it. It made me feel uncomfortable, it made me want hide away from everything forever.

The wind roared as i put it around my neck and fastened the clasp. A tear rolled down my cheek. But only one. No more. I wrapped my arms around myself and shut my eyes. I imagined the heavens and angels and whispered "Please, give me her back." I could hear sirens now, they became louder and louder, the tune thudding against my ear drum. I ran. I tripped. I blacked out.

Three years on, I’m still getting counselling treatment for that night. The warm sun beat down on my skin through the window, the rays of warmth filled my body with heat. Today was the last day of counselling. The last day of questions of ‘how I felt’ or how I was ‘coping’. Finally after today I could be normal…well at least try.

I watched my counsellor Jeanette walk into the room, she was tall, scrawny with jet black hair. She wore big glasses and had a strong smell of peppermint. She sat down and put her glasses on the end of her nose, whilst flicking through some past reports of my sessions. There was the occasional sigh but apart from that the wait wasn’t too bad.

"Now Mia…I know what happened to you was traumatic…I can understand that. But your 16 now, you need to get along with life."

"I didn’t ask to come here did i? And I am getting on with life I‘ll have you know." She always tried to act like my mother. I was her pity victim, her gossip, her charity.

"Mia… You haven’t been to school since you were 13…maybe you should go back."

Oh here we go. Go back? Have everyone whispering ‘Oh look! there’s that girl Mia, she was the daughter of that famous woman who threw herself off a church’. Or the constant harassment of teachers saying ’if I need to talk I can’. All I wanted to do was forget about it, not open up old wounds. Please. Save me the aggregation.

"I don’t want to go back, my income and life is fine now." I play with my fingers and try to not make eye contact.

"Mia, its a Saturday job, and you live with your father. A saturday job is not nearly enough income to support yourse-"

"Myself?" I roll my eyes and sigh.

She slides me over an envelope. it’s a brownish colour with some sort tea stain on the back. I open it slowly, inside it there’s a school, a date and a time for me to attend. I felt her touch the back of my shoulder. "Its in England, no’ one will have heard of you over there, you should give it a try…for your fathers sake at least."

In my head i began to wonder why i ever had to go through what i did. After it happened, minutes after the police arrived to hide my mother from news reporters, my father arrived. I remember waking up to him calling my name. I began to think it was all a dream. I cried. He took me in his arms and whispered "Don’t be scared princess, daddy’s here." I looked up and said "Is she really gone?" My dad turns whilst the rain beats down harder upon us. "No sweetie, mummy just had to go help the angels."

As i get up and walk out the door, i turn around. She says softly "Mia, its a chance. A chance for a new start. A new life.

I smile back but i don’t say thank you and i don’t say goodbye. I stand up, turn around and walk out.
ITS ONLY THE FIRST CHAPTER THANKS for comments
AND im17 lol

Its really good! I myself am writing a book (i’m 12) and the age the mom died and the way you described her feelings are alike… but the chapters should be longer, really! mine are about 15 pages but you should put at least 5 pages or more! oh and one more thing… i suggest her age goes down! i mean a 13 year old won’t be that traumatized and a dad wouldn’t say that to a 13 year old! And asking "is she really gone?" i’m 12 and no way in hell would i say that! i would be sad and all but i know that angels and god and that story is true but i know what death is and all… so you her age should be around 7 or 8 !!