This world is imperfect.

Story One "home"

You sit on the floor in your so called 'bedroom' well, you can't really call a concrete room without a window a 'bedroom'. Your uncle comes in, wailing his arms with a beer in his hands. You can tell, he is pissed. You sigh and press your face to the cold concrete. Wailing and yelling at you, calling you a "*ucking b*tch", screaming you never cleaned the large spot on the kitchen floor. You already have a bruise around your eye and your teacher looked suspicious. You sigh and get ready for the punch.
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You miss your mothers caring arms, hugging you so close and telling you the sweetest of things. You want to run. Run to her work so they can talk. You don't wanna be here with this lunatic. He picked you so hard that you can't even feel it. All you feel is electricity. Something in your body tells you that it's had enough. You stand up, walk over to the kitchen and break all the beer bottles. Your drunk uncle runs after, but falls and lands on his back. You turn and run but all you hear is howls of pain. You don't want to look so you don't.
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After spending your life saving on a place to live with your mother you go to her. You run inside and give her a giant warm hug. You feel happy and you now know that you have a nice big bedroom that opened up onto a nice little city, and a huge massive balcony. You can call yourself at home.