My eyelids pry their way open, no matter how much I try to fight. The sleepies are weak chains, they let me down. All the light from heaven seems to be shining in my room, and no matter how many times I blink it won't seem to dim. I raise up too quickly and am hit with a full force migraine; I feel the nausea coming up. I rush to the bathroom, slam the door closed, and heave into the porcelain ring. It seems to go on forever, but finally my stomach is at rest. I slump over, my arm on the toilet seat the only thing holding me up, my head keeps lolling side to side which doesn't help my headache any. And then I hear three raps on the door, "Who the hell ever is in there, better friggin let me in!" "Oh s***." I think to myself. "Just give me a damn minute!" I yell back. My sister always has had bad timing, like the time she was born. "Hurry the f*** up!" she yells back. For being only 9 years old, she knows more words in the book than I do and never lets me forget either. I hear her stomp off down the hallway, and I walk to the sink to wash my face. I splash the cold water on my face and it shakes me awake. I put my hand over my mouth and huff and then nearly puke again. A furious thrashing with a toothbrush later, and I'm almost over my hangover. I walk downstairs to the kitchen and hear the usual blare of the TV; my sister is sitting at the small, rickety table eating a bowl of soggy cereal. "It's about damn time." she retorts as she pushes past me and walks up the stairs to the bathroom, making sure to slam the door behind her. I heave a sigh and collapse on the sofa, I want to eat but then again I don't. I'm not sure if my stomach can handle it. I just rub my hand over it and try to whisper to it, telling it to calm down and there's nothing wrong. It just doesn't seem to listen. I look around the room for my mom, but she's nowhere to be found. She hardly ever is around, probably just in her bed passed out because she got too drunk again last night. I lay down all the way on the sofa and throw the remote in the air and catch it, I don't even worry about it hitting me. Eventually it does leaving a nice welt on the top of my head, I hear snickers in the background and look up to see my sister snickering and pointing her finger at me. "You're a dumbass!" she laughs. I throw a pillow at her and she dodges it easily, and follows by running and jumping on top of me. After emitting a horrendous battle cry, she commences to hit me in the head. "Get the hell off me b****!" I scream, trying to push her off of me. But she's got her feet anchored underneath the cushions and she's not going anywhere. I keep trying to push her fists off me while simultanelously trying to hit her back. I pump my fist up and only hit air, she slaps me in the face and gives me even more fire. I feel her breath on my knuckles and punch; I know I hit her and she knows it hurts. She slaps me one more good time before climbing off of me and walking off into the distance, clutching her nose in her hands. She stands in front of the front door for a moment and releases her hand from her nose. Sure enough, a few drops of blood escape and hit the floor, echoing massively as they soak into the raggedy rug. My sister won't look at me, and I have a distant feeling that she's crying. And for some reason it makes me feel remorseful, which is a complete contradiction to the fact that just earlier she had no problem beating the s*** out of me. But regardless, it tugs at my heart when she clasps her hand back over her nose and runs up the stairs. I lie back down on the sofa and wonder why this life is mine. It seems like an issue way beyond my maturity level, the kind of thinking that no people do until they're about to die or going through a mid-life crisis. But the truth is I've felt dead for years, I don't even remember the last time that I felt safe with my surroundings. I can't think anymore; my mom stumbles down the stairs, almost falling, and gives me a deer in headlights look. "What the hell did you do to your sister?" she demands. I can tell by how she asks the question that she's already convinced that I did the wrong. That's it's all my fault. "She hit me first." "Goddamn, why can't you two just get along for once in your f*ing lives?! I have a f*ing headache and all I hear is you and Syrie fighting! God can't you two just for once shut the f*** up!" she yells as she stumbles to the kitchen and throws open the fridge. "Where the f*** is all the food?" "You ate it all you dumbass b****." I say to myself, but she still hears me. "Oh so I'm a b****?" she gets right in my face, but her eyes won't stay focused on mine. "If I'm a b**** then you're a cu..." she falls on the floor in front of the sofa. I wince when she hits the floor, but then I get up to check her pulse. Unfortuantley it's still beating; I throw a blanket over her and go to grab my backpack out of my room. I have to get out of this house, I have to get away for awhile...

I grab my backpack and burst out of the door, I run down the street and don't mind that my hair keeps getting in my face. I forgot to put it in a ponytail before I left so it's running rampant. I walk away from my street and into the town, where no one recognize me. I usually run away from my house everyday and go to some of my most favorite spots. I walk pass one of the alleys that I frequently visit, but not today, I'm not in the mood to mingle with my fellow alcoholic adolescents. I keep walking down a few blocks, dodge a few cars, turn a few corners, until I'm out of the town. Here is where pavement doesn't exist, here is where the air isn't coated with cigarette smoke and pollution, and here is where I can finally let go.

I leave the gravel road and wander into the grassy fields; there is a huge pond just a minute's walk from here and it's the whole reason that I come here. The grass starts to get mushier, and muddier and I know I'm getting close. I can smell that pond smell; it doesn't smell bad, but it doesn't smell good either. It's a misunderstood scent, which is one of the reasons why I love it so. I don't mind that the lower half of my pants are getting wet and browned from the ground, it'll wash out. The only thing I care about is finding my tree; it's a large oak and it's always been good to me. The branches towards the top form a perfect little seat that fits me wonderfully. Now I've found that tree, and I've found that seat in the branches, I settle myself in the bark and rest my head back against the trunk. I can hear the distant cries of geese taking off, and their sound soothes me.

I pull my backpack around to me and pull out my sketch book; my oak tree stands just adjacent to the pond and so I get a perfect view of everything. I find my pencil in the bottom of my bag and then I find a branch next to me to hang my bag on. My pencil glides over the sandish paper, it indents a figure into the paper, and before my eyes it's made an image of a duck that I can see floating gently on the murky green water. I draw it's feathers protruding in different manners all on it's body; I draw it's beak as it opens to emmit it's "Quack!" and let the world know that it's here. If only I could be as happy as that duck, it could stay out here on this peaceful pond all it's life if it wanted too and nothing would ever disturb it. This duck doesn't know the horrors that lie beyond the point where the gravel dies and the pavement begins. It's so sheltered and innocent...and undamaged.

My picture is finished and I gaze at it, stopping every few moments to erase any stray marks. When I'm satisfied, I slip the book back into my bag. I wrap the bag gingerly around my shoulders and before I descend, I linger for a moment studying the image of the sunbeams dancing on the pond's waves. It's just so beautiful and unimaginable, and the fact that it's real to me makes it all the more special. I tear away my gaze and slide down from my seat in the branches. A nice puddle of water is waiting for me at the bottom and splashes on me when I land in it. I trudge back through the muddy grass and back onto the gravel, I don't want to go back but I know I have to.

The pavement is an unwelcomed sight, telling me that I'm getting closer and closer to the town. I can already smell the smoke and smog; and sure enough I'm back in this damn, godforsaken town. It's ironic how in just a short distance I've found an oasis, but it's so close to my worst nightmare. I pass one of my alleys and I notice a scrawny boy leaning against a graffiti covered wall. He's got a joint hanging out of his mouth and a halo of smoke is circling his head, he doesn't notice me and I'm glad he doesn't. He probably doesn't remember me but I can't get him out of my head. His name is Terrance Anthony and he was the first boy that I ever fell in love with, but he just fell in love with my body. He was wonderful at first, and I thought that we were going to be together forever, just like every girl thinks when they first fall in love. But after time he kept bugging me because he was just waiting for the day that we were going to have sex, I didn't want to because I was still at the tender age of 13. And the idea of letting a man penetrate me sounded well...painful, it scared me and I kept putting it off. After constant badgering from Terrance, I finally broke down and told him that I didn't want to have sex with him, at least not yet. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say; he pushed me up against a wall and was going to attempt to rape me, but thankfully a cop passed by and scared him off. I never saw him again after that, not until now.

He's still leaning against the wall, the joint is almost smoked 0ut and he still hasn't noticed me standing there. I hear a noise from deeper in the alley and I scramble behind the edge of the entrance and peek my head around to where I can still see Terrance. A tall, skinny, scantily dressed, blonde whore comes around the corner, switching her hips so hard I'm waiting in anticipation to hear one of them break. She prances right up next to Terrance and swishes her hair behind her head, then she gives him a seductive gaze. My skin crawls with jealously for an unknown reason, I hate this bastard why am I getting jealous over this damn girl?! She walks in front of him and wraps her arms around his neck and whispers something in his ear, nibbling on it before she completley pulls away. He growls in a way that means he's aroused and he leads her farther back into the alley, leading her by his hand on her ass. I continue to linger there for a few moments and look into the empty alley.

He wanted me to turn into that, he wanted me to be one of those girls. The ones that climb out of the back of alleyways and lead strange men to please beyond their wildest imaginations. Should I have turned into one of them? How different would my life have been, would I still be in love or would I be in lust? I don't know if I want to know as I leave the alley and find my way back to my dank house, it never looks welcoming. And unfortunatley, it hasn't chosen this time to be any less horrifying...