Running Away- A Thinknoodles Fanfiction

2.2- The Road

A/N: Who writes these stories from scratch? Who has a whole document or journal and just copies it from there? Comment scratch for the former, and planner for the latter. Usually,  I just wing it. Unlike the upcoming chapter in my other Noodlefic that I'm working with others on. 

I will try to put stuff that I've learned from my fandoms in each chapter, to relate. Notice I said fandoms, not just book fandoms. Hint, hint....

Dear Journal,

Biked another several miles, and I give up on counting them, I'll just post where I am.

Like right now, I'm in northern Pennsylvania, about.

I've just realized, digging around, that I found $37 in the bottom of my bag. I remember winning multiple bets on the school's playground.

I was running out of clean shirts to wear, as I just flipped it inside out, so now I only have 2 shirts (so, 4 uses total), so I decided to go to a small convenient store on the corner of the road. 

I looked around, deciding to also get a few drinks of 5-hour energy bottles. I picked out just a few white shirts, and a camouflage hoodie. I checked my iPod, to journal the significant things that has happened to me. 

It's been two days since I left. The event with the boy helped him, but it slowed me down by about two hours. I also have to take into account the naps I take in the trees, and the delay of avoiding D.C., what will all the security and stuff. I'll probably get carried away with museums and whatnot.

I'm really close to where I'm headed.

I buy my stuff, costing me about a staggering $18. Only $19 left. I just hope I have enough money for what lies ahead, but the person I hope I'll stay with will provide me with the money.

I shove the money into my new jacket, and walk out the door.

First thing I see is a girl with a cardboard sign, reading: "Spent all $$ on cardboard and marker, anything helps".

I try to ignore her, because the person inside me is screaming to help her, but I am as homeless as she is. But then I look at her face. 

She looks about 8, three years younger than me, but she's so innocent. All she probably has is straight A's, and that doesn't help squat on the streets. Her tight tank top outlines her shrunken stomach, reduced from starvation. 

I wrestle with myself, in my head.

I can't.

I have to.

I need money too.

She's younger than me.

Someone will give her something.

If they did, would she still be here?

I lost to myself. 

I run over when the light is red, to the middle of the street. 

She looks up to me, her short brown hair framing her small face, her grey eyes that were once intelligent, is now stuck on a look of begging. 

"Hey there," I say.

She flinches away from me as I talk, but then she moves back to me. "Are you going to hurt me?"

I put my hand on her shoulder. "No, I won't. What happened?"

"...Mommy..." She gulps, and tries to look older. "My mom overdosed...right before she died, she said she loved me. I said she was lying. I waited for a response. I didn't get o--" She stopped, and sobbed into her hands.

"There, there," I say, staring at the passing cars with a look of anger, wondering why they didn't help this poor girl, who probably went through the same stuff I did. I fingered my Jedi Order charm on my necklace, remembering that all lives matter.

I take an energy bottle, a brown t-shirt, a trail mix packet, and $7 to the girl. She looks up to me, and picks up a small purse-looking bag, except it's just black, with no decoration on it. She takes the money and shoves it in her pocket, and puts the t-shirt and energy bottle in the bag. Fingering the trail mix, she slings the bag over her shoulder.

She hugs me, and starts walking away.

"Do you know where you're going?" I ask. She stops. She turns back to me. 

"No..."

"Here, I'll help you get to a homeless shelter or something." As I take out my iPod, she walks back. I look up "homeless shelter" into my Google Chrome app. Turns out there's one not too far away. "Just a few blocks," I mutter. 

"You have some paper?" She nods. "Can I write something on it?" She nods again, opening her delicate bag and pulling it out. She also pulls out her marker. I carefully take both. I lean against the stop sign for a while, glancing at the iPod and the paper repeatedly. I write the directions down. "Here you go. Follow these, and it'll lead you to the nearest homeless shelter, okay?" She studies the paper. 

"Thank you, so much!"

"Sure. What's your name, by the way?"

"Hannah."

"Annabeth. Anna and Hannah, I guess?" I joke with a smile.

She grins back. "Yeah, guess so."

She sprints across the road, now red-lighted again.

"Bye, Hannah!"

"Bye, Annabeth!"

I walk the other way, thinking what I've done.