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“Run” she calmly said to me. I was 6 years old at the time, living in a trailer the size of a school bus. “ I’ll be right behind you,” my mother said as she scooped me into her arms and placed me through the window. My feet hit the hard dirt road. I ran faster than I thought I could. The air was so thin that with every breath I took, my mouth would beg for water. I glanced back to see my mother’s progress and she was successfully out the window, chasing after me. I ran past the park, I ran past the trash disposal, I ran past the empty polluted pool, I ran like I was gliding above the ground. Suddenly I felt two hands quickly grab my waist. I looked up in shock. That’s when I saw a side of my mother that I will never see again. Her face was strong, and cold like stone. Her teary eyes were full of fear, and were ready to burst, like a broken pipe begging to explode. This was not a side of my mother I was familiar with. My mother was terrified and was running for both our lives. Successfully we reached our blue beat up Chevy truck. She threw me into the passenger seat, ordered me with a strong voice to duck my head down, and started the ignition.
 
 
“Sh*t,” I grumbled. It was the first day back from summer vacation and I was starting my Junior year. What could be worse? “ Jen get up! NOW!” Jay barked. Jay has been ‘watching’ me for three years, and by ‘watching’ I only mean feeding. Jay only cares about one thing, and that is the check he receives each month form foster care. If not for that money, I would be sleeping a park, which sometimes doesn’t seem half bad. I kicked off my ripped mustard yellow excuse for a blanket, and sat up. The second my feet touched the floor a chill slowly moved all the way from my lower back up to my head, causing it to snap into a forward position facing my wall. The aged white paint was chipping. There was one big chip lying on the floor. I reached down in attempt to put the chip into its proper spot on my wall, hoping it would stay in place like a puzzle piece. As I observed the hole for the chip I noticed that the color that remained under my dirty four walls was princess pink. A little girl must have lived here before I did. A whole family must have lived here. I bet her mother and father painted the room especially for her. I bet they were happy. I bet her father came into this very room to kiss her goodnight. I bet he thanked God for his ‘wonderful life.’ I chipped more paint off the wall to reveal more pink, more of this little girl’s life. I chipped faster, and peeled off larger pieces. Then I started crying. The faster the portions of paint fell to the ground the harder my tears would tremble down. I hate this girl. I hate the life she lived. I hate the fact that we both live completely opposite lives. I hate the fact that she was the lucky one. I hate that I hate her. How horrible of a person am I? I hate a girl that I don’t even know. I hate that she had a mother who came home after dinner. I hate that mine didn’t. My mother left me in a motel in the middle of nowhere Arizona. She abandoned me and I blame this girl for it. This little girl had everything, while my mother and I were running on empty. More tears came streaming down my face. I tried to stop but it was something out of my control, these tears were my broken pipes finally bursting. “What the h*ll?” Jay stomped the door opened. I snapped my head back, and quickly wiped my face. 





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