Tranquil

When I was 16, the idea of escaping was an exhilarating thought. It seemed so new, dangerous, and full of adventure, something my life was currently lacking. Life as it was, was so incredibly boring. But no one tells you that, do they? People always say, “Live life to your fullest” and “life is so short” but they never do anything about it. They stayed confined in their own box, their own little world, complaining, and living their same old tired lives. The possibility of running away, of traveling, of finally taking grasp of my own life, was the most exciting thing that I had ever thought of.

It was a destructive thought, though. I ran out of money pretty fast and had to quickly succumb to life on the streets. The adventure had lost its luster. Before the thought seemed so shiny and exciting, I couldn’t fathom where I had gone wrong.

When I was 17, I had seen things no teenagers should ever see and lived through things no teenager should. I was no longer a little girl, with bright eyes and a happy face. I was dead tired and scared, my hair was thin and ratty, and falling off. My body, once full and strong, was now deteriorating and my bones were poking out, like pins inside of a rubber encasing, poking father and father out. My face was sunken in, I looked like one of the monsters from the horror movies my friends and I would watch at sleepovers.

When I was 18, I died in an alleyway. I died in the rain, with my clothes sticking to my body, and I died shivering. I remember thinking that this couldn’t be how my life would end. Alone. Hungry. Scared. I thought of my mother. Hugging me, cheering me on at basketball games, making me cookies after school. Why had I left home again? I thought of the day I ran away. I remembered how I laughed as I got on the bus and sat in the back. I remembered how I used to love the rain. I used to be so happy. I used to be alive.