Little Secrets

Ember: I Get A Dirty Sock In The Face

Until they found me, I wasn't in very good shape. Living was survival, and survival wasn't easy. Some people think the way things turned out was for the better. I'll let you be the judge of that.

~~~~~

My name is Ember Johnson, but don't you dare call me that- Em is how I like it. I'm fourteen years old, and until a few months ago, I was living alone on the streets of New York.

Yeah, that's right. I was homeless.

While other kids went to school everyday and hung out at the park on weekends, I spent every waking hour struggling to survive.

How it happened wasn't anything special. My parents died in a car crash when I was five. I was in the foster program for a total of three weeks before I ran away. I had been living on the streets ever since.

Anyway, most of my problems started when I tried to steal an orange from the grocery store:

I ran past the candy store to my left and turned the first chance I got, a policeman yelling behind me. I struggled to keep my backpack on as I ran passed all the fancy hotels and food places on the path towards home.

The policeman was catching up, which I found rather surprising. Most people don't know this, but the police in New York aren't very fast unless there's an all-you-can-eat buffet of donuts- especially if they have sprinkles. Otherwise, they're pretty slow.

I sprinted faster, my heart already pounding in my chest from the fear of getting caught. I'd rather die than go back into social survice's custody. They said they were helping us, but really they were just giving us away to families who didn't want us, like green beans to a child.

"Hey! Stop, thief!" The police officer was wearing out. He was slowing down, which was fortunate for me because I was running out of gas too. But I made myself keep going. I dashed into an alley to throw him off my scent and then took a right onto 14th Street. I kept running and running, never pausing to see if the officer had caught up with me until I was sure I my lungs would burst if I didn't stop. I ducked down into allies and dashed passed people walking home from work.

Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I doubled over, taking in deep gulps of air.

That was close. Too close.

Once I had caught my breath, I walked casually down the street, trying not to look like a shoplifter. Keeping my eye out for cops, I headed towards the outside of town until I reached an old, rundown hotel that appeared to have been abandoned since the colonists settled in the U.S. The front door, which looked like it once was a grand entrance, was hanging onto its hinges with the last of its strength. Above the entrance was a rusty sign that said: Li'l Inn Where home is closer than you think! Ninety percent of the windows were either gone or close to it. Even from twenty yards away I could smell the musty old smell of dust, rat droppings, and old people. I took a deep breath. "No place like home."

I squeezed through the opening of the front doors and stepped into the cold lobby. It was dark inside. The front desk and the sofas had become victim to bugs and mites. The carpets weren't in much better shape. They had been gnawed away into thin threads. There were candles everywhere. I had put them there long ago when I discovered this place didn't have electricity. Grabbing the one nearest to me, I pulled my lighter out of my pocket.

After I lit the candle, I found the stairs and took them up two at a time to the third floor. They protested with loud squeals as I placed weight on them. That was one of my defenses.

I walked down the dark hallway, my candle casting an ominous glow on the faded walls that had once been painted a soft blue. I reached door 342, which had a broken knob. The door squealed unhappily as I swung it open.