My real name is something forgotten. Something no one pays attention to. I go in and out of families, normally because of neglecting and abuse, and I've been all over the U.S. I've been to Kansas, Texas, Arkansa, Georgia, South Carolina, Virginia, Rhode Island, Maryland, and many other places. I never got the chance to go sight seeing or explore the state, but that changes for New York. I'm going to go through hell with my new family in New York. I'm going to run away. They're going to beat me, insult me, try to break me, but it's too late, I'm already shattered, they're late for that, and so then I'm going to run away for a longer time, and then they're going to beat me harder, and it will be a continues process until the foster system realizes I'm being abused. No one uses my real name, it changes every home. Even my foster parents don't call me anything. Recently, I've been known as the runner.
It was all fun and games until our parents left.
Out of the blue they just disappeared.
4 years later there was still no sign of them, no contact, nothing.
I was helpless, I couldn't struggle, I couldn't scream. He came close to my face and kissed my cheeks, "You're mine now"
I was sexually assaulted.
If it wasn't for my two older brothers and their best friend, I wouldn't have got through it, I wouldn't have made it.
Then our house gets broken into and there was something so familiar about the man who broke in.
So we run.
There was so much blood, it was seeping out, covering my hands, covering my stomach.
Is this the beginning, of the end?