Sometimes all you can do is run. Away from what will try and hurt you. Away from things trying to take things away from you.
Running is always a choice, but sometimes, it's the only way you can survive.
Running away is all I can do. They took my friends, my family. When I beg for help, all people do is turn away.
I don't blame them for treating me like this. I once did the same thing.
They were on the streets, barely scraping by, barely surviving. I was a snobby rich girl that turned her head from ones who needed help.
I didn't have many friends, for I only befriended ones that were just as rich as I was.
Being a generally poor society, it was only me, my family, and 2 other girls.
Now, I'm the one begging for things, but nobody even looks at me. I'm a mess.
My normally flowing pink gown is torn and covered in mud. My hair was oily and tangled. And my face was muddy and covered with scrapes.
I was hideous. I couldn't go to school--everyone hated me-- I couldn't turn to any family--they were all dead-- there was nothing. I lost hope.
I wandered the dark streets and alleyways blindly, relying only on the broken street lamps to guide me.
I turned. Only my head. I didn't want to risk someone throwing something at me.
But this voice, it felt familiar. Like the warm drop of honey in milk. You can always taste the sweetness.
I was met with crystal blue eyes, much lighter than my own. My mothers eyes.
I was shocked. But then, I realized. This wasn't my mother.
My mother's eyes drooped, not from age. From sadness. Our father abused her, then left.
These eyes held warmth and brightness. This was my sister.
She smiled. A smile that I could never produce.
Elizabeth didn't look like someone that would waltz around in a fancy gown.
She had crystal blue eyes and dark brown hair. To match this, she had olive colored skin, she took after our mother much more than I did.
I had dark green eyes, pale blonde hair, and ivory skin. I never went outside, but when I did, it was just to go to school or to family or friends.
We were polar opposites, it was hard to believe we were even related.
But it was good to know that she was surviving much better than I was.
Everyone loved her. She was kind, compassionate, loving. These people took away all she had, but she held her head high and kept on smiling.
I wish I had her spirit.