Don't Stop Believin'

Just a small town girl living in a lonely world. I immediately ran upstairs to my room when I got home from school. I threw down my book bag and sat on my unmade bed. I heard my parents screaming downstairs. I put on my headphones to try to block out the drunk words of my father and the harsh truth of my mother's words. They fought like this almost every day. Every night, my father would get drunk and my mother would "go out." No one knew of her whereabouts and no one asked. Sometimes, she would be gone for days. My father stopped caring about my mother's location just as she had stopped caring about his alcohol abuse. I sat alone in my room the size of a closet, wishing the day would end. I opened my window and gazed upon the city in the distance. I pulled out my sketchbook, which was already filled with drawings, and began to draw the outline of the tall skyscrapers. Not even the sky was their limit. I pulled out a bag of chips from my bookbag and began eating my dinner as I drew narrow streets packed with cars and people walking around, roaming freely. I soon started applying color. The purple sky caressed the tall, dark buildings while the lights in the windows and streetlamps shone like stars. The city was so large and free, unlike this small town filled with people with fake smiles who act like nothing's wrong. I know they see and hear, but why don't they do anything to help? I needed to get something to drink and the fridge, usually filled with beers, was downstairs. I quietly went downstairs, hoping my parents, especially my dad, wouldn't see me. Since fate loves to mess with me, my father spotted me and charged over to me.

"What are you doing home so late?" he yelled, but probably not even caring where I was.

"What do you mean? I've been home since 3:30 in my room." Even though I was standing a foot away from him, purposely keeping my distance, I could still smell the alcohol.

"Don't lie to your father!" he yelled in an intoxicated rage. Before I could duck, his swinging backhand smacked against my cheek. I looked down and held the side of my face, which, without a doubt, was probably bright red.

"I wasn't lying!" I yelled back, trying to defend myself. This time, I was quick enough to dodge the other swinging arm, and I ran upstairs to my room, making sure to close and lock the door behind me. I could hear my mother yelling at my father for hitting me, and another fight broke out between them. I could feel tears streaming down my face, even though I should be used to this after 13 years, lucky enough not to remember the first four years of my life. I looked up at my mirror and saw a gaunt teenager with scarlet hair hiding her face. I pushed it behind my ears, careful not to pull on my black hoop earrings. Without the hair hiding my face, I saw a freakishly pale girl with black mascara running down her face along with green eyes filled with sorrow. I knew this isn't who I wanted to be. I couldn't be this person anymore. I had to do something. I pulled a purple beanie over my wavy, red hair and pulled on a black coat. I pulled my bookbag onto my lap and began to jam as many clothes in as I could. I ran into the dirty bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in years and grabbed my toothbrush. I then got my money and counted it. I had roughly twenty dollars, which was enough for a train ticket. Without a second thought, I ran downstairs and quickly but quietly slipped through the door. I began to slowly jog to the one place I knew I could be free: the city. Never looking back, I flung the bookbag over my shoulder and hoped I was making the right decision. It didn't matter though. The only thing that mattered was to get out of this place. I didn't exactly know where I was headed, just as long as it wasn't here. I didn't have a lot of money or any food at all, but at least I would have freedom. I could finally be free of the quibbling and alcohol. I could be free from an abusive father and disappearing mother.

After running for a little while, I reached the city. It was late and the buildings were lit up. Although it was night time, there were hundreds of people walking and cars stuck in traffic. I fought through the crowd on the sidewalk and reached a stairway going underground. I followed it to a subway. I waited on the bench for a few minutes before a large, silver train came. It stopped with a small screech and its doors opened. I slipped through the crowd and sat down. I sat near the window seat and looked around. The train car I was on was pretty empty; just me, an elderly couple, a gothic girl, or at least I thought it was a girl, and a teenager around my age sitting not far from me. He was also seated at a window seat and had been staring at me. When he saw that I noticed, he quickly looked out the window. He stuck out to me, though, because he had a worried countenance. He had a guitar case slung over his shoulder with a messenger bag on the other. He had messy brown hair and tired cerulean eyes. He was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and ripped jeans. The ripped jeans didn't look like the rips were there because of style, but they looked old and worn. I don't think he knew where he was going, like me. She took the midnight train going anywhere.