The sun was rising over the horizon as I walked through the open fields. For some reason, the sheep were rowdy this morning. Maybe the thunder storm the week prior has still shaken them. None the less, they still frolicked through the grass as I sat, leaned against a large stone poking through the ground. This rock held so many memories.

I thought of when Jessie was only three, and we were playing out on these fields together one afternoon. Her new Mary Jane’s were stained green already, the exposed part of her legs red from the heat. Mom always made us wear hats during the summer so we wouldn’t burn ourselves. I think she hated the sun as much as she hated the cold.

Country life never suited her.

Jessie never listened to me, to any of us in fact. She ran at a mighty speed even though I begged her not to, and landed face first into the smooth side of the rock. She hated the hospitals bright lights but loved her cool new scar.

Jessie was what you’d call a firecracker. She could silence a room just by entering it. Some days she would throw tantrums so huge it would take us a whole week to calm her down. As you can imagine, she didn’t get on so great in school either. Teachers despised her and her rebellious antics. To Jessie, you only lived once so you might as well make yourself known before you go. This meant a lot of detentions, suspensions and time outs. Still, I loved her to bits.

I felt the grass beneath my hands as I laughed at the image of her that day. She had blood pouring down her eyebrow, a large gash splitting it ; But she had this look, this defiant expression on her face.

I don’t think anything could, or can, make her cry.

I could hear the sound of sheep moving ; unaware that I had closed my eyes. I gasped as they opened.

The sun had risen fully by now, but was covered by stormy clouds. I called for my dog, my border collie, Max, to come so I could round the sheep up. He had wondered off like he always did, not much of a Shepard’s dog, I remarked. He came bounding towards me and skidded to a stop at my feet, staring up at me, ready to be commanded.

That’s one thing my sister hated more than anything. Dogs. She hated anything and anyone who bowed down to its master.

As we rounded up the sheep and began to move, I could see our house in the distance. The plot of land we lived on was centuries old from what dad told me. The house must be too, if you could see the state of it. The roof looked like it was constantly caving in. The paint had long since faded away, which didn’t look to great against the moldy wood porch. It was home, but I needed a revamp.

Behind the house lay a bewildering forest, which I’ve only been in once or twice. Mom was so strict on entering it that when she found out Jessie had made a secret fort out there, she grounded her for 2 months. Jessie snuck out anyways. Mom never found out.

I was tired, so tired. I’d only just woke up an hour ago and I could fall back asleep in an instant.

Once me and Max had locked up the last sheep, we started to make our way back towards the rickety house.

Behind me I could feel wind whipping my exposed head. My baggy jeans sagged and i pulled at dad’s dark leather coat that had seen better days. My combat boots trudged through the mud and my black hair was pulled back into a plait which ran down to my shoulders.

Overall I looked threatening, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing being a girl in the 20th century.

My parents were never heavy on ‘acting like a lady’ or any of that bull, so I didn’t. I liked wearing nice dresses and makeup, but on the farm it wasn’t really that practical. Still, I wished I could have lighter hair or maybe a smaller nose. I think that all girls feel like that though, even girls who I think have everything. Maybe they wished they’d have short black hair or a hooked nose or eyes as round as circles like me. I think I’m going crazy if I think any girl wants to look like I do.

The lights in the house flickered as I heard the sound of shouting. Why are people fighting? Dad and Jessie never fight. Ever since Mom left, dad been a ghost and Jessie knows that. She’s never scream at Dad, never.

I began to pick up the pace as the screaming intensified, until the sound of a bang rang through the air. I felt myself go white. All the sleepiness left in my body evaporated. Only now could I notice the black mustang parked in the grass. Only now could I note the fact the voice sounded unfamiliar, alien. The front door burst open, and Jessie sprung out. The fearless, rebel Jessie I knew was gone. She looked like some sort of war monger. Blood was splattered across her long face, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she cried,

“Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”

My legs took control and I began to run, like a coward, like a maniac. The forest, I thought, the forest, the forest, the forest. I ran, ignoring the sounds of bullets behind me. My heart was in my mouth. I gasped for air as the terrain became more fickle. The tall trees blocked all light, and I had to manoeuvre around the rocks not to trip.

Suddenly I felt heat in my side. Red hot pain seared through my side and I slipped, my hand falling out in front of me…