Chapter Two Dedicated and Dead She staggered up the empty street only a little worse for wear. Blood dripped down her leg, scratches covered her body, and gash stretched across the top of her hand. Battled scars from yet another fight. One in which her assailant slowly drowned. She had seen better nights. Much better nights unlike this one upon this night. Nights filled with sugary surprises, sparks of light and glittering trees. That was when she had abided by the law, mind you. Now she hope...

Chapter One Right to Trespass? The corridor seemed to stretch forever. No pretty paintings and potted plants decorated it. The corridor was empty. Of decorations, plants, sound, furniture and life. Not completely but almost. For on a stiff, wooden seat sat a lone teenager. Nauseous she held her head in her hands as she silently waited. She didn't sit in a hospital awaiting news of a sick relative. She sat in the corridor of a place far less sympathetic. At least at a hospital bad news can com...

Epilogue Needing to Be Saved The stars shone down from the heavens upon the estranged teenager. Laying atop a picnic table Genevieve watched the night sky. She imagined the person, who would never come, watching he from so high up. The image her mind conjured showed the person wearing a smile. Yet, the more she thought about it, disappointment would be more realistic. She closed her eyes trying not to think about the ripple of disappointment in her life. Eleven years ago Genevieve had been on...

At six years old she lost her parents. She sat on her mother's death bed as she watched her mother's life stolen away. Her father soon followed with the aid of a single bullet. No one cared about a little girl who split into two at the horror of watching death take its course. They floated through life losing their faith, their ferility and then their freedom. Then, at sixteen, they took a chance. A chance at having a child to find it taken away from them. All because of one, little mistake. ...

I wish I could jump down my hole, to die beside my victims.

Stumbling Through Fragments The hardest thing for a person when they were mistreated as a child is forgetting. It’s not because they want to remember how they were once treated. It’s simply because, if they ever speak up, they want to make sure they can remember every detail. Imagine speaking up and realising that not everything is right. Or that you forgot a few, very important, details. It makes you look like the liar instead of your attacker. The doorbell rang but Genevieve ignored it. She...

Harrington High. Hell Hole. Exclusive private school. Boys and girls walking around in expensive uniforms with badges hanging all over their blazers. Perfect students; excellent behaviour, effort and academic results. The grounds itself old but clean and tidy. Not a single bit of litter, or anything else, to destroy the perfectness of the school. That is what the public sees. That is not what this private school is like. The collage itself was beautiful. No Photo Shop or other digital manipul...