The only part of running away that would be remotely difficult for me, would be leaving my father. Rowan, 41, with a slowly growing forehead. I love him so much. I hate to think that within the next few months, I will have to leave him.
When ever I feel lonely, which is often, I think of him, and how much he loves me. I have memorized his face. His dirty blond hair, slowly creeping back, away from his crystal blue eyes. I am taller than him by two inches. His five foot ten body looks even smaller next to my mom.
My "mother", Holly, works as a seamstress. She is six foot one, and I have her hight. I don't know her that well, even though she is my mom. The only look I ever remember her giving me, is not one I believe most children see on their mother's face. her dark green eyes glare at me almost as often as they smile at my siblings.
Oldest, Rose, is also the most vain person you will ever meet. She has grown out her straight blond hair down her back. Even longer than our mother's light brown hair. She loves her blue eyes and stick thin body. Like anybody would be surprised she is that thin. She ate barely anything for two years. Then she had about five surgeries to "accentuate " her " assets ".
Close behind her, is Ivy. Ivy is by no means as perfect as Rose is. We might actually have been friends, had the curcumstances been different. She is short and slight. Not stick thin, but far from chunky. Her gymnastics addiction is very obvious.
My brother is next, at fifteen. Sage looks like my father, somewhat. His cheeks are less full, his complexion a little less red. He is about six foot three, the tallest one in the family.