How could I have been so stupid? she asked herself as she walked along the dark, deserted road late at night, hands dripping in dirty blood and clenched into tight fists. The fact that she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to hit her like a rock. No one to turn to. At this she chuckled lightly to herself, although it did nothing to lighten the painful load on her soul. Someone to turn to? Stuff of dreams. She had never had someone to turn to. She felt no remorse now that her "guardians" were gone. No emptiness. Perhaps a little guilt. It was she who had done it. But nothing she felt she lost except for a roof to stay under when it was safe, which was not often, and a small storage place for the few belongings that she had. She shook her head and hiked her small, worn, beat-up backpack higher up on her shoulders. All that she had was a few pairs of pants, shirts, socks, underwear, and her walkman with her two favorite CDs - sublime and her black sabbath, bob marley, switchfoot, deep purple, aerosmith, and a couple random songs she didn't know who sang mix. Nothing else. Nothing of any emotional value. She had never owned anything of any emotional value. oh wait, that’s not true, she thought. When she was only about 2 years old in the dirty, cold, rusty, over-crowded orphanage she owned a small, stuffed bear. It was worn and old and beat-up, like everything else she owned. Obviously. But it was still wonderful and she had loved it just the same. I wonder whatever happened to it...Ugh, my retarded guardians probably took it away long ago. Of course She dragged her thoughts out of her memories and focused them on what she was going to do and where she was going to go. She couldn't go back to that house she had never called home. Not now. No, it was too late. After what she'd done? Yah right. When they didn't show up at their social functions and no one saw them, the cops would find out what happened, and if she went back there, their deaths would be obviously be pinned on her. Everyone there hated her already. They would be HAPPY to be able to blame her for all their problems and have her put in some kind of looney bin. Agh, they would just LOVE that. But no, she refused to go back to one of those. Everyone thought she was crazy for her strange appearance, actions, and accusations against her guardians’ brutality. Pretty much everything about her made people think she was crazy. It was ridiculous. No one ever believed her. She scoffed at this. They would never listen to her but she had had enough. That night, her guardians’ beatings had gone too far and she could not take it any longer.

She sighed as she mulled over what she had done and spotted a public restroom by the train station. Checking to make sure no one was in there, she walked over to a sink and looked at herself. She winced at the sight of her delicate, pale face covered in cuts and bruises. Her long black hair that was naturally tinted slightly dark purple was tangled in a mass of blood and dirt from the struggle. Her bangs fell into her light silver eyes, and as she brushed them away, she was satisfied to see that they still sparkled as they always seemed to even in light of the recent horrors. She loved her eyes. They were the only thing left of her that she was proud of in the least. They were the only things that seemed to be living amongst her dead being. But they were also one of the many things that led people to think she was crazy. Different. That's what she was. That's what her eyes were. Different. That's why people thought she was crazy. Because she was . . . different. At least that is what she thought. Why else would they think she was insane? She shook her head and looked down into the sink and started washing off her blood-stained hands. Looking at the sleeves of her jacket, she saw them soaked in dark blood. Groaning, she reluctantly peeled it off her bare, shivering arms and stuffed it in one of the toilets. She dried her shivering hands and searched through her backpack for something else she could wear so as not to freeze, but that was the only one she had, so she had to suffice by stuffing her hands in her jean pockets. Once she walked outside by the entrance of the train station, she immediately regretting stuffing her jacket down that toilet. It was ice cold out there. She could have sworn that remaining drops of water on her wrists turned into ice right in front of her eyes. But how would she have explained that blood? There was no way it could have come from an injury on herself, except maybe excessive cutting. She laughed quietly under her breath; people would probably believe this if she told them though. They might be horrified and act shocked, but they wouldn't really be. They probably expected she did. But no, she didn't. She had, of course, considered it on more than one occasion as many had. But she had never been able to bring herself to do it.

No, that was the only thing she could have done with her jacket. Spotting a ticket booth in the train station, she slowly raised an eyebrow. Hmmmmm.......perhaps... She walked over and asked, "What's the cheapest way to get as far away from the place as possible?" The old man selling tickets smiled warmly, seeing the countless bruises and cuts on her face and arms she had attempted to clean up and hide. Everyone saw them. No matter how hard she tried to hide them at first with her hair so people would not think she was some kind of freak, they always saw them. It was impossible to hide them. And after a while, she stopped caring what other people thought of her and her life. For all she cared they could all just go to hell. Actually she was hoping they all would. "Well," the raspy voice of the old man brought her out of her thoughts, "I can get you on a train to Orange County, California for just $10. Is that good for you?" California...well it was sure far. And a change. Maybe California would do her good. Maybe she could get a tan. At this she laughed, causing the old man to give her a questioning look. A tan. Yah, right. Her skin was so pale it practically glowed in the night, as she was sure it was doing right now. She was proud of it too, sometimes. California seemed good enough, for now at least. All she really cared about now was getting far, far away where no one would recognize her and she could start over. And if she didn't like it she could always go somewhere else, right? "Uh...yah, okay." He smiled and said, "It leaves at six tomorrow morning." At this he checked his watch and laughed heartily, "or should I say this morning?" She forced a smile and a tinny laugh that was pretty obviously forced. He didn't appear to notice though and handed her a ticket saying, "Good luck." "Thanks", she said in a barely audible whisper, her voice cracking. Checking her watch, she realized it was 1:30 in the morning. Wow, she had walked for a while. Then again, she had gotten to her house pretty late. Now I see why they were so pissed off...well they still deserved what they got, she thought to herself.

Sighing, she took a seat in one of the old, cracking chairs in the train station and then decided to lie down across three of them. She weighed practically nothing due to malnourishment and was as skinny as a stick, so they supported her quite nicely, although she was a little worried about them breaking under her. She breathed deeply and stared at the ceiling, waiting. The old man yelled out at her suddenly, causing her to jump, "You should get some rest, you look like you could use it. Don't worry; I'll wake you up when the train gets here." She raised her head and smiled gratefully at him. A real smile. Hm, something she very rarely did. Laying her head back down, she closed her eyes and eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, her body still tense and alert, waiting.