Perfection.

Perfection: Chapter Two.

Picture of Frankie on the right!!!(: ----------------------------------------------------->

“WHORE, THAT’S MY BOX. OUT!”

I shiver violently and scream as I’m thrown from the box in the alley.

I land in a big muddy puddle, soaking my already messed up clothes. The big burly homeless man growls at me, and hides away in my former T.V. box.

I rise up from the ground, grimace at him and feel the road burn on my cheek. I flinch at the feel, and start to walk out of the alley.

The rain pours even harder, and I lift my hood over my head, trying to shield myself from the fierce wind as it stings my wet face.

The raindrops whip and lash at my eyes, so I squint to see out. The wind makes it even colder against my soaking wet body. My jeans, torn from fighting for space and food are insanely cold, and my hoodie are the only sources for warmth are long gone to do their job.

You might ask, who is this unknown girl?

Why is she here?

Where’s her parents?

Well Frankie’s my name. Short for Francesca. My mother was Hispanic, and so was my father. They both passed away when I was ten. I’ve been in and out of foster homes with my little sister, Alyshianette, Alysh for short. She’s now twelve, and I’m seventeen. As soon as I turn eighteen, we’re both getting our asses out of the hellhole we live and into a nice cozy life.

Alysh is at our “parents” house for the night, our last night there. She’s in the attic as far as I know of, otherwise they’d hurt her and I couldn’t stand it.

You’d think that we kept getting kicked out of our former homes were our “faults” but it was far from that.

Ever since our parents died, we had been living with a good 5 families.

The first one, the wife was an alcoholic and kept beating us while the dad cowered away, afraid to conjure any ways to help us. She constantly threw empty vodka bottles as us while we terrifyingly dodged them, then when she ran out of things to chuck; she reverted to the knives, which were the worst. She was afraid to “damage her walls and furniture” by throwing, so she chased us all around the small house which was abandoned, while we try to save ourselves by screaming bloody murder.

One time Alysh was trying to run up the stairs and the psycho bitch yanked on her precious long black hair and threw her from halfway up to the floor. She hit her head quite sickeningly then slid a good ten feet across the hardwood floor. I ran out from my hiding spot to try to save her, but the mom stabbed a short knife in my stomach which sent me hurtling to the floor.

I cried so hard while blood seeped through my pink butterfly tee shirt and onto the floor. I remembered from a hospital show that you should apply pressure, so I did. With a creepy look on her face, the crazy woman hovered over my bawling sister. She’s five, for Christ’s sake!!!

Alysh tried to struggle to escape, but that mom held her by throat, using her free hand to drag Alysh over to me, where she grabbed the handle of the knife that was in me. With a grin, she looked at me and slid the knife slowly, taking in the howl that escaped out of my mouth and smiling torturously until it was all the way out.

More blood came out from my wound, but in her big black eyes showed no emotion but hatred and murder. She turned back to Alysh, who was looking at me, wide-eyed. I tried to reassure her that everything was okay until a knife was softly running against her cheeks. I swallowed more pain and more tears escaped my eyes as I gasped in horror.