The Savior They Scorned

The Savior They Scorned

Gavin

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After three grueling years fighting the Crimson Flu, using my own blood to create the vaccine that saved millions, I was finally home. Dr. Peterson from HHS was with me, ready to present my Presidential Medal of Freedom. All I wanted was to hold my wife, Sarah, and tell her the nightmare was over. But as I stepped out of the car, Sarah stood on the porch, her eyes wide with terror, not joy. Then my brother Mark emerged, cradling a hunting rifle, my parents cowering behind him. "You're infected!" my father yelled. "Stay back!" Before I could protest my immunity, my gaze fixed on Sarah' s visibly round stomach. Three years gone. It wasn' t my child. Mark smirked, "It' s mine." The world imploded. My own family, the people I fought and bled for, now saw me as a plague. They gave me two options: banishment to a brutal wilderness or slow death in a rat-infested jail. Mark, fueled by malice, sedated me, framed me as an aggressive superspreader, and convinced the entire town to burn me alive. The acrid smell of kerosene mingled with my profound shock and disbelief. How could they be so blind, so callous? So easily manipulated? My sacrifice, my heroism, meant nothing. Just as Mark raised a lit torch, sirens screamed. Dr. Peterson, bewildered, stepped out of a government SUV, holding a gleaming medal. "This," he boomed, "is for Alex Miller. His unique antibodies saved millions!" The mob froze. Mark, in a fit of rage, accidentally shattered a vial of aggressive live virus, splattering himself, my parents, and Sarah. As they began to sicken, I pulled out my phone, playing Mark' s own self-righteous words back to him. "You have a choice, Mark. The ranger station, or the jail. For the good of the community." I walked away. I didn't look back. My family reaped what they sowed. My true purpose, my freedom, lay beyond this hateful town.

Introduction

After three grueling years fighting the Crimson Flu, using my own blood to create the vaccine that saved millions, I was finally home.

Dr. Peterson from HHS was with me, ready to present my Presidential Medal of Freedom.

All I wanted was to hold my wife, Sarah, and tell her the nightmare was over.

But as I stepped out of the car, Sarah stood on the porch, her eyes wide with terror, not joy.

Then my brother Mark emerged, cradling a hunting rifle, my parents cowering behind him.

"You're infected!" my father yelled. "Stay back!"

Before I could protest my immunity, my gaze fixed on Sarah' s visibly round stomach.

Three years gone. It wasn' t my child.

Mark smirked, "It' s mine."

The world imploded. My own family, the people I fought and bled for, now saw me as a plague.

They gave me two options: banishment to a brutal wilderness or slow death in a rat-infested jail.

Mark, fueled by malice, sedated me, framed me as an aggressive superspreader, and convinced the entire town to burn me alive.

The acrid smell of kerosene mingled with my profound shock and disbelief.

How could they be so blind, so callous? So easily manipulated?

My sacrifice, my heroism, meant nothing.

Just as Mark raised a lit torch, sirens screamed.

Dr. Peterson, bewildered, stepped out of a government SUV, holding a gleaming medal.

"This," he boomed, "is for Alex Miller. His unique antibodies saved millions!"

The mob froze. Mark, in a fit of rage, accidentally shattered a vial of aggressive live virus, splattering himself, my parents, and Sarah.

As they began to sicken, I pulled out my phone, playing Mark' s own self-righteous words back to him.

"You have a choice, Mark. The ranger station, or the jail. For the good of the community."

I walked away. I didn't look back.

My family reaped what they sowed.

My true purpose, my freedom, lay beyond this hateful town.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

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4.7

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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