Sang's Freedom (Original And Rewritten)

♡ REWRITTEN ♡

Wowza! You reached the end of version one of Sang's Freedom. From here on is the rewritten version of the story you just read. Cheers!

**Rewritten version**

Sang's Freedom

-Chapter 1-

Sang Sorenson's POV:

I had seen half a dozen new houses in the past four years. That's six houses in only four years. Needless to say, I have no friends. I was seventeen and still didn't have a cell phone...or access to the internet...so for the most part, long distance relationships were out of the question, too.

Where ever we were, my mother always found fault with the place we were living: a leaky faucet, too many stairs...a nosy neighbor. Luckily, my father's job was accommodating and we were able to move whenever Mother saw fit.

This time, the move had been out to Charleston, South Carolina. We had never lived in the south before. Most of my life had been spent anywhere from Washington state to Minnesota to Indiana. Charleston seemed nice, though. It was a pretty, large city with many cobblestone streets and beautiful flowers in people's windows. It was close to the ocean, too, which was a place I had always wanted to see.

Our new home was on the outskirts of the city in a small development with plenty of space between houses. That was my mother's doing, I was sure. Always working to keep us out of the action. Away from the culture.

But that was the cost of having privacy.

We had taken up residence in house 214 on Sunnyvale Court, and I watched from my bedroom window as the realtor pulled up the For Sale sign from the front yard. She balanced the sign in one arm before shaking my father's hand.

My mother stood at his side, arms crossed.

Movers slipped past them, delivering boxes and furniture to our new home.

While they worked, I wasn't allowed out of my bedroom, so I took the time to unpack my miniscule boxes. Half of the contents were books and the other half was mostly clothes passed down from my sister, Marie.

There was an old radio and a stack of CD's that I placed on top of my bookshelf, an alarm clock, a green comforter which I spread out on top of my lumpy mattress and then, all that was left was my journal which was immediately tucked into my dresser drawer.

When my unpacking was finished, I peeked out the window to see the movers were still working.

It would be a while, I realized, pulling out a book from my collection and kicking back onto my bed. On a normal day, once I had finished my daily tasks, I would go exploring, especially in a new town.

There was a forest out back that I couldn't wait to get a feel for.

But my mother would be angry if I was so much as in the same room as any of those men working downstairs. She would say I was asking for trouble.

She would call me names for putting myself out there, in my tight fitting jeans. If I didn't behave, who knew what she would do. Back in Montana, mother had gone as far as to strike me across the face with a yard stick. The stick had broke across my cheek and we had to move that weekend. I didn't see why.