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The Last One

I wish I had wings, I wished, Then I could fly away and never have to see this stupid town again. I sat on the edge of an outcropping of rock over the gorge. I looked down and saw the small river flowing three thousand feet below me. I came here to be alone, and I always was alone. The people in town always said that one day the rock was going to break off while I was sitting on it and I was going to fall into the rushing river below. I always laughed. I laughed because I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I was alone in the world. I know that that is corny and cliché but I really am. My parents were the last living descendents of my clan, the Macbeth clan. My father died in a freak accident with a rattlesnake (since when was a rattlesnake bite a freak accident?) and my mother suffered from such extreme depression afterwards that she killed herself by jumping off this very outcropping that I am sitting on now. My younger brother died from a staph infection that was immune to the antibiotics and my elder sister died giving birth to a baby that she never told me who the father was. The baby died of starvation because I was the only one left to take care of it. I couldn’t feed it because I was starving myself when it died. I am only alive today because I was able to work up enough money to buy a shotgun. Now I hunt, I sell the skins, I sell some of the meat, and I earn money to buy other foods. I have a simple life. I stood up and looked out over the edge of the outcropping, almost losing my balance when a gust of wind came. Slowly I walking into the small Scottish town that I lived in. I walked over to the alley that I normally slept in and was surprised to find a young couple lying down on the ground. I took a step closer and noticed something glistening on their throats. I gasped and for the first time noticed another figure sitting next to the couple. It had looked up at me and I could see lively, young, eyes playing in the shadows of the persons face.
“Don’t go!” the figure, which sounded like a young girl, called to me. I stopped and started walking to the girl. She started giggling as I got closer and I couldn’t help but notice a slight feeling of unease come over me. In the books that I would read the characters always got in trouble for ignoring that feeling so I rushed out of the alley. I stood at the entrance and screamed as loud as I could. A moment or so passed before some people came rushing out towards me.
“Rinn?” one of the men looked at me for an explanation. I pointed into the alley wearing a look of horror.
“In the alley, there are these two people. They’re dead! Something sliced their throats!” I gasped and screamed. Some of the men ran into the alley to see while some of the women came over and tried to calm me down. I let them, because for the first time in a long time I felt wanted. Some of the men came out of the alley holding a small skidoo. I instantly recognized the skidoo as my own and looked away but not without noticing the crimson blemishing the shine of the metal. The women suddenly pulled away from me with disgust twisting their features.
“She killed the Earl of the McCollum clan and his wife. That traitor is a disgrace!” one of the men yelled pointing at me with his rifle. I shied away from his accusation but for some reason I didn’t deny it. One of the younger boys, Donegal, stepped closer me, holding my skidoo. I stared him straight in the eye and stood a little straighter. I brought myself to my full height and just before Donegal struck me with my dagger I gave the shortest most touching speeches I had ever given.
“I would never hurt any soul, but I beg you to, please, destroy mine.” The skidoo stuck from my unmoving chest as the village stared at my lifeless body, the last descendant of my clan dead. I was innocent, but my nieces spirit was not.

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