It's said that the eyes are the window to the soul. In that case, then I can easily confirm what I already knew - my family has no soul.
I threw my hands out, trying to catch myself from falling, but the hard pavement scratches my skin raw anyway. I hit the ground with full force. I release a throaty groan, and feebly try to lift my body up with all the dignity I can muster. My eyes peer behind me to meet that ice-cold glare of my mother. Her eyes are deep, bottomless pits that probably go down to the lowest level of hell. Never breaking eye contact, I wipe the blood on the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, stand up, despite my muscles screaming in protest, and run through the yard, away from "home."
My "home" is as good as dead to me. Beaten, bruised, and scarred, I've had enough, I've reached my breaking point. This time, I am never coming back. I might starve, but at least I'll never have to stare into the cold emptiness of my mother's eyes again.
I faced the brutality of the streets before, but this time, I had nowhere to hide. Though I almost broke my resolve, I had to remember that nothing and nobody was waiting for me at "home." At least, nothing but hate.
It's especially cold tonight. I spent all day trying to get food, water, money, shelter, a job, and basically anything that might keep me alive one more night, but to no avail. I'm rested up against a rough brick building in an alley, shivering. I can't keep my hands still enough to zip up my coat farther. I'm almost worried that the noise of my chattering teeth will draw unwanted attention. My gaze shifts out of focus, and I blink through heavy lids that become plastered to my face if I keep them closed for too long. I was already dead before I left, but soon my body will be too. A faint smile comes across my blue lips, and I gently close my eyes, with no intention of ever opening them again.
Suddenly, a faint whimper echoes through the night. Abruptly, my eyes whip right open and I'm on my feet. Somehow, my frozen joints carry me through the alley until I reach a knocked over trash can, the source of the noise. I peer inside to find a small puppy, matted and helpless, squirming and crying. It gazes up at me, and I am instantaneously flooded with warmth. Its round, chocolate brown eyes are filled with an innocence and purity that melts my stone-cold heart. I feel drawn into the animal. I want to care for it, to help it. I can save it. "Hey, little guy," I murmur gently as I cradle it in my arms. "You just needed someone to save you, too."
I appreciate any sort of criticism on my writing; please, anything will make my day.
~Be Real
