Part 1

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Sawyer's POV

It was raining.

I used to love the rain. The way it drummed against the garage next to my room, it used to act as a lullaby. Typical English weather provides plenty of opportunities to hear the rain. It brought a state of peace to me to listen to the low thumps of water against the roof; the slow beat always seemed safe and soothing. But the rain hitting against the leaves, which were currently above my head, didn't really have the same relaxing effect. The giant oak tree's leaves did little to shelter me from the ongoing storm; being exposed to the elements like this wasn't ideal, but some protection was better than none. At least, I think it is; who knows anymore?

Shifting my rucksack from the ground, as the dirt started to become mud, I clung to it as I moved it onto my lap, trying my best to protect it from the elements. It does hold my only possessions, after all. Resting it above my knees and cuddling it into my chest, hoping the little bag stuffed with the few possessions I still owned could somehow warm me from the chilling winds and icy raindrops. It's a foolish hope but one of the only hopes I have left. This wasn't my first night sleeping under a tree in the park, and it probably won't be my last. Unless, this time, the cold finally gets me.

That's just wishful thinking, though. As if the cold would finally grant me peace from this hell most call life.

I stared at my bag in thought, wondering if I should eat the small stale cereal bar I had found last week or let it stay in my bag till the hunger became unbearable. By found, I mean stole. I'm not proud of it, but a girl has to eat. Choosing to let myself indulge due to the less-than-pleasant sleeping arrangements I was about to face, I took the bar out of the now-damp bag and took a bite. It was more than stale and probably relatively out of date, but it was the first time I had eaten in, I think, four days. Keeping track these days is challenging. The days all seemed to blur, and keeping up was a challenge at this point, but then again, does it really matter what day it is anymore?

I know it was early September when I started bouncing around, sleeping under trees and other sheltered areas. I think it's now spring, judging by the weather and the long periods of dark making up the nights slowly easing up. But to be honest, I wasn't sure anymore. And as I said, I am starting to lose all caring over the day of the week.

I tilted my head skywards and let the rain wash over my face; this was the first time I'd come close to a shower in nearly a month, so while the water was cold and initially uncomfortable, it was now feeling relaxing. The rain offered some small form of replacement for a shower, so I rubbed my hands down my face hoping to get some of the dirt off my skin. Just because I am a street kid now doesn't mean I have to look dirty. Looking back down, I realised I had finished the bar all too soon, my stomach still painfully empty despite my small meal. I had been eating the bar slowly as if chewing it a hundred times before swallowing would make the small bar a meal worthy of keeping me full for the next week. Still, not even that could prolong the inevitable.

Sighing, I leaned back, my head resting against the tree trunk and considered going to sleep. What is the point of sleeping if I am going to wake up in an hour feeling worse than when I fell asleep? The worry of nightmares, memories really, coming as soon as I let my guard down plagued me as I eased into the trunk.

As if sensing my desire to move, the rain started to come down heavier, the heavens opening. The bark of the trunk dug uncomfortably against my spine, the thin damp hoodie I had been wearing for the last four weeks doing little to nothing to protect me from the elements. Considering standing to find a more protective shelter, I shifted again. How lucky am I? I mean, really? Someone up there must love me. It's the only explanation for the hand I have been dealt in life. Either that, or I really am the most unlucky person to walk the planet.

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