Fuck. My head was pounding. A minor side effect of sleeping on the streets. The city was movingmovingmoving but I was going nowhere. I was nowhere itself, the empty destination, the place where broken hearts collided with shattered dreams.
I needed somewhere to go, but there was nowhere and I was alone. Always alone.
You should be.
"Shut up," I muttered aloud, then silently cursed myself for responding. If I pretended it wasnt there, maybe it would go away. Or maybe not. I didnt really know. Maybe nothing wouldcouldshould ever change and all life was, was a grand adventure of pain.
I started walking, and walking, because I just didnt know what else to do. This was what defeat felt like, then.
Weak. Weak. Devour the weak.
Soon I came to a dead end street, to a building that looked both desolate and hopeful. A sign above the door read 'Baxter's Home for Troubled Teens'.
Well, how fitting.
It was, wasnt it? For here was me, a girl so young but still so broken, a fading star overshadowed by a million rising stars. Troubled didnt begin to describe it. I was falling to that place so low there was little promise of ever crawling my way back out. Fallingfadingfallingfading-
I took a step through the door.