--SHORT STORY COMPILATION--

-2-

"Get out, and never show your filthy face again!", he barked, simultaneously shoving me vehemently out into the cold.

"I'm only seventeen. I'm not ready." I stuttered, pulling onto my hood, as my teeth began to chatter.

After slamming my head profoundly on the screen door, I began to stagger backwards, swaying my hands from side to side—attempting to gain balance. Grasping onto my forehead to try to stop my head from throbbing, and my eyesight from blurring, I missed a step.

Little did I know that, that day was the start of my living nightmare. Saved by the uncut grass, I wobbled up on my two feet as I began to shake the mud off my frail hands. My fragile, slender body felt as though it were intoxicated; having a mind of its own. An overpowering sensation took over, as I stood on the front lawn, like a sculpture made from mud—unable to breathe. Though the trees still had their leaves covering their naked bodies, goosebumps scurried like lightning speed eating my physique away from the gelid breeze. The sudden rainstorm seeped through my ripped clothes and onto my bare skin as if I were being stabbed by boundless pins and needles. Paralyzed to the relentless pain—I footslogged forward as a shiver ran down my spine.

My raiment no longer had purpose. Cotton that constructed my fury onesie, split apart from my father's continuous tugs that created various sized holes throughout. The rich, brown colour from the mud, concealed the charcoal grey fabric as the smell of evocative fresh rain intermixed with blood, filled the blustery air. My face was doused in water as though I was working out at the gym for hours on end, and my perfectly blonde hair that had shiny loose curls became a rat's nest in an instant.

There is no way I would amble my way back into that corrupt home, I thought to myself. So, I picked myself up and started my journey—alone. I limped my way through the newly done asphalt driveway and towards the hidden trail to seek shelter from the rain.

"Ugh, I need to think about getting a job," I mumbled as I continued towards an underground tunnel to get some rest. After laying my head on the rough surface, consisting of a pile of rocks, I instantly shut my eyes and found my escape from reality.

The sounds of birds chirping woke me up and as I rolled to my side to view my surroundings, an immense amount of pain traveled from my head all the way to my toes—giving me a sudden jerk. The light breeze whispered in my ear as it swished through the trees waving at me ever so gracefully. Disregarding the tormenting pain, I held onto the tunnel's structure for support, and lifted my way up. I limped over to the water, unzipping my onesie to clean the mud that had now dried up into dirt as I began to mutter, "This is definitely a new experience,"—squeezing the life out of the fabric. I continued to limp over towards a maple tree to hang it dry.

My feet ached and blisters started to form from walking for days on end. Begging and pleading didn't get me anywhere. Their responses were always the same, "Sorry but you don't fit the criteria," or, "No sorry, we don't have any left overs," always shifting their eyes from right to left, avoiding any eye contact with me.

I tried everything, but there was just no light at the end of the tunnel for me. I was praying for a miracle.

Walking into the public bathrooms became a chore, seeing that my appearance was gradually changing to filth—someone I could no longer recognize. The permanent marker given to me by an employee, was the only thing I owned, besides my raggedy clothing. The tiny gap in the washroom stall, between the public toilet and the wall, became my home—my skeleton like body sliding into it with ease.

On the walls that had been enveloped with new and old residue from all sorts of bodily fluid—I began to write, "They shun me and ignore me as though I were some unwelcome alien," but maliciously scratched it off of the wall after I finished writing it. That's when I heard the employees getting ready to close and viciously shoved the fine tip marker back in my side pocket exiting the stall silently—trying to avoid getting into trouble.

As I began to saunter my way around the city, towards a dumpster that always has food in it—I froze at the sight of a slim middle aged man. His body was camouflaged with the surrounding shadows, and the street lights accentuated his sharp jawline, fierce blue eyes and perfectly shaped eyebrows with no visible wrinkles.

His aura was alluring, and the closer I ambled towards him, the more I had to lift my head up to meet his eyes. Hypnotized by his charm, I noticed his mouth starting to move, articulating every word: "Have you given up?" Confused and unsure why this stranger seemingly having it good in society was talking to me—I hissed with all the energy I had left in me, "Not over my dead body." He walked over to me, slid a stack of money into my pocket and whispered, "I see a lot of myself in you from when I used to be homeless. Take this and prove those imbeciles wrong. I'm just paying it forward."

"WAIT! Hold on a minute. Mom why would a stranger give you money?" My youngest son questioned—concerned, interrupting my story.

"Well sweetie, I'm not sure. But there are a lot of good people in this world. Not just bad. "I whispered as I pecked his forehead.

"So, what happened to that man?" My eldest daughter asked—curious.

"I wonder about that too, sweetheart. But that was the first and last time I saw him.