The creature...

I last saw my mother about three years ago. I was Ten years old when she kissed us three kids for the last time. I still remember her long strawberry locks. Her green eyes. How young she looks. She would be thirty now if she was still alive. Florence doesn’t remember her. Of course, she doesn’t. She was only seven months when Mom said her last goodbye. The rat remembers her though. Our father was drowned in sea the year before and I remembered how Mom cheered us up. And we cheered her up.

The reason she had to leave was simple. She was going to get even. On a creature that killed Grampa three years before. She said that the creature killed about 102 people in sixteen years. I was the only one who knew Grampa. I always remembered him lost but he still played with me. Actually, the rat was born before Grampa died but he never remembered it. They said that the creature was spotted in Brazil which seemed like a different world altogether. So, she went there. I still remembered the last thing she said to me “I will love you forevermore my first-born daughter.” and then she walked out.

For about a week, I helped Grandma look after the rat and baby Florence. Grandma looked worried of what would happen to her daughter. She looked after us grandkids with love. Until, during when we were watching a quiz show, there was some breaking news. I remembered the news reporter. A totally fake looking woman with golden hair, she announced “The creature has struck again, the explorer Danelle Smith has been killed. She was found in a pool of her own blood and mud.” we then saw a picture of mom which was taken when I was about four. I could tell because she was a bit thinner and her hair was shorter. I was a pain that day when she took me to Egypt. I ran off and she had to chase me along with dad. I cried when we saw the pyramids because there was a dead person inside. Mom then called me “My little Panda.” that was my nickname because I was born in China and I also looked like a panda. My parents were studying more about pandas. I had long dark hair and near white skin. I also had bamboo eyes as well. Mom called me Panda as a little nickname. Oh, how I miss being called Panda.

For weeks afterwards, I kept very quiet. The rat was louder and Florence kept on crying. Grandma was in pieces. She never cries in front of us but she does when we fall asleep. I know because last year, I heard her sobbing in the kitchen. “Grandma,” I called “what’s wrong?” she then saw me and tried to hold back tears. But it was useless. She signed and answered “I miss your mother, my daughter, your grandad, my husband.” I went up to her and answered “I miss them too.”

Now I’m thirteen and twenty more people have been killed by the creature. I sometimes try to see a pattern but there isn’t. Just random killings and the poor people who fell victim. We lived in a five-bedroomed house outside of our town. I love where we live. The silent of everything except the birds. It’s such a treat, watching them fly into the sunset. I help look after my younger siblings and try to solve their problems. But every night I dream of Mom and wonder where she is.