Aug 23, 2009 20:14
My name is Irina Petrova and eight months ago, my family was murdered.
I was born and raised on a farm in Russia; I learned English from my aunt Anna, who was from England. Bath, I think. We all lived happy with each other until a group of raiders came and killed all of my family and almost killed me. I was in the hospital for many days after that. They did not know my name so they could not find where I should be. Eventually, I was well enough to leave.
In London I met a friend of the family I did not know very well, but he recognized me. He took me into his home in New York City and gave me a job at his restaurant. I grew to know him better, and... well. Now I cannot imagine being anywhere else.
But I still miss my family. I miss my old friends, and my bed in my small attic room in the farmhouse. I miss my big brother and my papa and how they used to carry me on their shoulders. There are so many things I miss that I do not think about so much anymore, because they hurt, and because I am happy where I am. It is all twisted up in my mind and I am not sure what to do.
So.