Seven Years

I remember when I was five. I climbed up onto the sink, I can't remember why, but  fell froward and hit my head on the mirror cracking the glass. Mum was furious and told me I would have bad luck for seven years. I stop believing her after a year because nothing bad happened but I suppose those seven years didn't have to start straight after the mirror broke. I believe those seven years have started now.

I think about this while I sit at the dinning table with my mobile in my hand ringing my mothers phone. The voicemail every time.

I dress. Without showering. I don't have time.

Black jeans. Black top. Black hoody. Black boots. Black. jacket. Black scarf.

The colour of black to hide from my enemies. The layers of clothing to keep the heat slicing cold from my body.

I must find my mother.

Just as I head for the door.  I pass the small table in the hallway. A startling white piece of paper catches my eye. I pause in mid step. Back track. Not picking up the paper I read the words sprawled across the contrasting paper. "You're seven years have begun. Start looking and don't stop. Death awaits the one who tried but failed." I suck in my breath. I only know half of what I need to know. The note tells me what I already knew.

My enemies took my mother. Death awaits her. Yes, my seven years of ba luck have begun. But what has my mother failed that she tried so hard with.

I must find her.