The Lost and the Confused.

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I walked down a deserted cobbled road feeling lost. The houses that ran along the side of the street were wooden and run down, the streetlights either busted or flickering. Night had fallen about an hour ago and I had no clue how I got here.

Worse yet I didn't seem to care.

I continued to walk down the street, scuffing my shoes. My father bought them for me as an 'apology' for 'punishing' me. He says I deserve it, he says I ask for it. Maybe I do, maybe I don't; either way I was confused by my rioting emotions and lost in a place I didn't even know existed. A space opened to my left, it was a park. The park was the same as the surrounding buildings in the area, run down. I sat on the swing seat and heard it squeak. As I sat there I thought of my family, I thought of my father who beat me if I looked at him the wrong way, I thought of my mother who was already crushed by the beatings when money was tight, when the food ran low, when she talked to others or when she tried to defend me.

I looked down and studied my clothing. My white shirt with a black and red rose design was dirty and had rips in the sleeves; my matching skirt was ripped as well, especially around the knee. My white shoes were so dirty they were a smudged grey colour. All my clothes and possessions were 'apologies' from my father.

I hate my clothes.

Josh strolled out of his studio, a run down building really, but it was a great place for he and his freinds to rehearse their dancing and acting. Unlike me he was familiar with the area. He casually walked down the darkened streets, comfortable with the air of abandonment as night fell. The area's residents closed themselves up inside their homes in the late evenings, so he was use to the solitary streets. Josh heard the park swing squeak, at first he thought it was the wind, but there wasn't any wind. He walked closer and spotted me gently swinging. He saw a girl about sixteen years old, wearing tatty, worn clothes. For some reason Josh felt compelled to walk over to her. I heard his quiet steps as he walked towards me, but I only lifted my head when he stopped in fornt of me. Afterwards he told me that his first impression was that I was wounded. It wasn't the bruises that marked my face but the look in my eyes, he said.

"I haven't seen you here before. What's your name?" Josh asked.

"Rachel." I answered hesitantly; trying to hide the fear in my eyes.

"Rachel," he smiled encouragingly, then he asked gently, "How did you get these bruises?"

"My father," I answered without thinking, tears in my eyes, "I don't know why I told you that. I'm so confused and I don't know where I am."

This time Josh's smile was filled with understanding, "I'll tell you what. I'll take you to a friend, her name is Penny, and she'll be able to help you. She's real friendly and it's her job to help those in need." Josh slightly turned towards the dark cobbled road while i hesitated, he seemed nice but I was afraid.

"Do you really want to spend the night out here without food, water or shelter? I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was still gentle. I got off the swing and followed him down a series of dirty allies unitl finally stopping in front of another run down building. Josh knocked and an elderly woman answered.

"Penny, I have someone I would like you to meet." Penny took one look at me and ushered me inside.

"Thanks Josh I've got it from here. You should be going home now." The front door was closed before Josh could form a reply, so he shrugged his shoulders and walked off into the growing dark.

I walked down the cobbled road, daytime made such a diffrence to this run down area. I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand containing the address Penny had given me. Penny who took five years out of her life to help sort out mine and turn it around. I turned the corner and there was the building, it was run down but sturdy. Once inside butterflies erupted in my stomach, especially when I saw the dancers. I hovered in a corner, not sure what to do until a young man, about 24 years old, walked up to me.

"Hey, you look familiar. Do I know you?" he asked. I studied him; his short brown hair, his rich brown eyes. He wore grey tracksuit pants and a white singlet, his feet were bare. A slight smile tugged at his mouth.

"Are you Josh? Josh Winfred?" I asked.

His eyebrows arched as he answered, "Yes. You are?"

"Rachel," I answered with a smile, "Rachel Devlin."

His face lit with recognition, "Ah," he said, "it's been a long time. Five years exactly, I'm thinking. You look good. Want to go somewhere and catch up?"

"Yeah. That sounds great." I answered with a smile, a real happy smile.

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