Runaway by Madison Veras

Chapter 2: Meth is One Hell of a Drug

         I was born in the poorest city across the country, Detroit, Michigan. My father was a low life, and a drunk. He enjoyed the little things in life, you know the usual, beating his wife and  kid. There was one thing he did that I'll never forget.
        It was January 1st, 1995. I was 5 years old, when I was laying down in my uncomfortable, scratchy bed. My mother was suffering from a hangover from the night before. So it was a good time for my sad excuse of a father to take advantage of me.
         I won't go into all of the gory details, but to this day I get chills on the back of my neck thinking about the way his calloused hands felt on my skin. His warm breath, laced with alcohol hitting my neck.
        He didn't stay after that night. Guess he was too scared I would say anything, but the little to no money we had was gone. I don't remember much of my childhood, but I remember my mom's eyes. They resembled mine much too closely. They were the color of a bright sunny sky, with flecks of gold shining through them.But that was before the meth.
          When my dad left, she turned to dealing drugs. She wanted to, "make some money to get us on our feet." But she got caught up in the lifestyle. Instead of dealing drugs, she was taking them to abscond from her feelings of heartbreak.The bright blue in her eyes had dulled, her perfect teeth had began to rot, and she was no longer my mother.
         I would go to the convenient store, and stuff my old fraying bag with snacks, because there was nothing to eat at home. Those were the first times I began to break the law. On my tenth birthday, I walked into my house after school to find my mother cold, lying on the floor. The doctor called it an overdose, I called her a coward.

Just a little of her backstory. She will eventually talk about meeting her love interest.

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