I guess you could say my life is like a sad love story…

Once upon a time there was a little girl, and she belonged to a loving little family. She was 4, her brother Brandon 2.

I'm guessing your wondering what I have to do with this story. I'm Anna, that little 4-year-old girl I just somewhat told you about, yeah, that's me.

I have bright green eyes that sparkle whenever I walk into the light…

I have long, soft brown hair that shines with such elegance. Girls tell me all the time that they are insanely jealous. And I'm usually brushing my bangs out of my eyes. Those sneaky bangs, thinking that I cant feel them brush against my long dark lashes. I'm not the girl to wear much accessories, but I always wear a black bow, that I obtained from my mother, whenever I hug it close to my chest, sometimes it feels as if she's still here.

You know those 'perfect families'? Like the Brady Bunch, so perfect, shiny, flawless… just simply… perfect. That's how it was… key word: was.

On my 12th birthday, my world started to swell up, with pain, and blackness. My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She fought for about a year… it tore my family apart. Then the darkness took her… and she was gone; out of my life; never coming back.

After my mother died, everything got hectic; I was now a teenager, 13 years old. And Brandon was 11. We were able to live unsteadily for about 2 years, going on food stamps, and having to sell a lot of our expensive stuff, which we never thought we would have ever had to sell. I got a job at the local grocery store to help out the situation, but it wasn't enough. We never thought we'd be in this situation. And now we're sinking so fast into the quick sand, you barely have time to yell for help. Then it happened, we lost the house, and we didn't know where to go.

We had to stay at a hotel for a few days, thinking of relatives we could live with, but all of them were dead. Except one, my Aunt, who was about 60 and lived in Britain in her mansion, alone, with all her cats. We called her and got a hold of her, her shaky old voice barely made out a 'yes' to our desperate question. My dad asked if she could send us some plane tickets, he felt a bit needy, and again, she mumbled a 'yes'.

We were able to live with her for a year, but then she passed away. We weren't home when it happened; we were at the grocery store. But when we got back, the nurse who comes daily, said she was making tea for them, and she tripped over one of the cats above the stairs and fell, causing her to have a heart attack.

So once again we were stuck with problems. We were forced to go back to live in Kentucky on the streets. You never really realize how hard it is until you're the one who's stealing, and digging in the dumpster.

We all started to separate and go our own ways in our journey to survive on the streets as a 'hobo'. But my dad still helped us; he tried to find food, a job, and clothes for all of us. He would search for us and try to get us the supplies. Me, as the big noble sister, I tried staying with Brandon, but he also eventually drifted off on his own. And that's my life… pretty harsh huh?