Wren~ Past
I don't want to be weighed down by what is not mine to carry in the first place because people aren't always going to be there for you, they show up out of the blue but the only reason they want you is for their own selfish needs and that's why I have learned to handle things on my own.
I'm not the type of person that many walk over and I want to be the type of person who leaves a mark on the world but instead I think I'm leaving a scar. I think that wherever I walk, wherever I run, annihilation follows but I can't pretend that nothing is my fault. Destruction doesn't follow me.
Destruction is me.
My legs and chest burned as I propelled myself forward, my worn converse pounding against the pavement, and I wasn't sure if it was the pounding of my shoes or the pounding of my heart that was heard from my ears. My breathing was ragged and shaky but I willed myself to keep running. My vision was white, ears ringing and oxygen fighting its way into my lungs.
My hair clung to my sweaty forehead yet I couldn't take my hand away from the pop tarts and other snacks that were shoved under my arm, to fix it.
I had to run, I had to get another block. I doubt he was still running after me, or that he ever was but I had to get as far away as possible. If he ended up calling the police than I had to get somewhere safe.
I ducked into a dark alley; the only light provided was from the few streetlamps that littered in close proximity to the apartments. I slowed to a stop, dropping the food onto the concrete carelessly and resting my hands on my knees, bending over to catch my loss of breath.
"What did you get for us?" I feel a pair of strong hands on my shoulders and I manage to let out a light laugh.
"Nothing." He picks up one of the candy bars and tears off the wrapping with his teeth; even though I wanted all the food to myself I let him take some. One, being I didn't want to fight him and two being he was my friend, "Hey I worked really hard to get this food."
"Or you mean you worked really hard to steal this food," He pauses. "If you're going to steal than at least steal something good," he says throwing his wrapper on the ground. "Have I taught you nothing?"
I take a deep breath and pick up all the items that I've dropped, standing up straight and brushing my fingers through my tangled, damp hair.
"Fine than you don't have to eat any of it," I start walking and he follows behind me.
"You have to take care of me though, I'm your best friend." He insists and I scoff at his remark.
"Don't think so highly of yourself." I state.
James was a pompous ass that came straight out of foster care when he turned eighteen. We had been stuck together ever since we met at one of our first foster homes and I was sure I was going to be stuck with him for the rest of my sorry life,
I didn't have many friends nor did I want any but James was the closest thing that I had. Though I do contest that he doesn't do much more than make inappropriate jokes in the wrong moments and steal the food that I fought hard to provide for myself.
I knew stealing was wrong.
Everyone does.
We grow up with that engrained in our minds. But the one thing that they don't tell us is how easy it is to do wrong and how difficult it is to do right. I guess that's why I do the things I do, because it's easy. It's easy to get high. It's easy to get wasted, and it's easy to forget our circumstances for the time being through these actions and it's easy to steal things if you're starving.
