I thought I would post the beginning of a story that I wrote a while ago. This is the first of three parts in the story.~Elizabeth
Fortunately, no one heard me as I crept my way down the staircase. I opened the door, and it was then that I smelled it: freedom.
A tingling sensation that I had not had for years.
My body was welcoming it, craving for more of it. Though I had nothing but a twenty and a change of clothes in my backpack, I felt as if I was ready for anything that life could throw at me. I didn’t have time to think, I just ran. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew that anyplace would be better than the orphanage. No one wanted me, none of the two hundred and seven families and couples had even the slightest interest in the gangly, untamable seventeen year old that was Monica Scott, or whatever my last name was.
Supposedly, my mother was a mere sixteen when she had me, a year younger than myself. Though I had always been angry with her with giving me up, I had to give her some credit, she at least had me.
As for my father, who knew who my father was? He could’ve been an eighty year old drug addict and drunkard for all I knew. But something inside of me told me differently. I was almost to the bend in the road when I saw it—a police car. Its lights were flashing an unmistakable red and blue. There was no way my escape could end so abruptly, this was, after all, my chance.
I flung myself into the muddy ditch, allowing the tall surrounding grass to hide myself.
