Stained

November 21, 2011
I scratched at my head, the flea bites unbearable. Then, I reached into the sink and splashed water onto my corrupted face. I sighed, no use. The dirt stuck to skin as if it had been cemented to my face. I tried to clean the ketchup stain from my t shirt but well, nothing seemed to work.

I slowly pushed open the washroom door and shuffled out of Burger King. Everywhere I went I tried to avoid stares. Most of the perpetrators thinking, why is she alone? Why is she dirty? Why this, why that.

The climax of this horror I bear through each day, school. It is so hard to try to float through the classes unnoticed when you have been wearing the same clothes for a month, you never have lunch money, and you always have detention because you "forgot" your homework, the truth is you didn't do it.

You're probably asking those same questions as every other citizen in this Podunk town. Answer, to every single question, I am homeless. Yes, just like those old men you see collecting soda cans, or those eccentric ladies in the park that feed the birds. Why, you may ask. Well, my parents are dead, and the only social workers in this town are Reverend Flaner and his wife who put you with the parents that appear to nice but end locking you up in closet filled with cleaning supplies. Trust me, I have been there, several times. You also may ask the details of my entire adolescent life, and I won't give them to you. Otherwise this would be long depressing story, not the witty, heartfelt, survivor story this is. Another thing. Do not give me pity what so ever, do not give me false hope like the millions of other people who have, don't tell there are happy endings. Because, there are not happy endings, none, niene, nada, non and nicht!

I pull my hood over my head and wait at the school bus stop, why I even bother to go to this hell hole of school I do not know. I think it is because I made a promise to my mother on her death bed to continue with my education, why I did? Again, I do not know, maybe it was because my mother was dieing, or maybe it was because I was seven and hadn't even gotten real homework, or annoying teachers, no back then it was vocab lists and teachers that gave you gold stars because you were "good".

The bus was littered with papers and games, gum lined the windows and obnoxious kids yelled across to their friends. Typical, stupid and my life. I passed by rows of kids all glancing me with the usual when did she last shower look, and don't think those kids are mean because I know you do it to, even I used to back when I thought baths were a necessity along with cookies and every other junk food on the list.

I trudge to my seat, last row, right in the back, clear of any juvenile idiots they call average students.

By the way, in case you don't know, life isn't about who has the most expensive video game or who heard the latest Taylor Swift song first, and you probably don't know this but ipods don't mean anything. At. All. So cruise through life like nothing is wrong until you hit rock bottom and can't get out, I need someone to join me.





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