I always seemed to spend my life running. Running always seemed to be my way to escape. I ran from everywhere because there's no place I've ever felt worth staying in. Every place felt like a nightmare, especially my foster home, Margarette Johnson's Home for Girls "the best since 1976". Sometimes I would just sit there and stare at the plaque wondering when they were going to change it. It was obviously a lie. I've been there since I was seven. My mom died of breast cancer. I had no one to take care of me after that because, my father abandoned my mother and I, when I was 6 months old. That's probably where I inherited my talent of running. I was 15 years old now, and being there for eight years seemed more than I needed. The place was no paradise to live in. I never once had a toy in the time that I've lived there. It was always so cold at night and the blankets were old and had a worn out shade of green. The floral patterned walls were peeling. I guess not even the walls could take it in there much longer either. The wooden floors creaked like the ones you see when you're watching scary movies and somebody walks into a haunted house. There was no such thing as sneaking through the halls to visit your friend on the other side. The floors would give you away to the gates of hell, which was Ms. Gretel Miller's office, or as I liked to call her, Cruela. Ms. Miller was in her early 40s and very delusional. She always pranced around in her worn out animal print pumps, her split ended bleach blonde pixie hair cut, and her tomato red claws. She didn't have nails, she had claws. She's been with almost every man from the city, including the mailman, which has been married for twenty years. He always had a "special delivery". Cruela was nice, that's only if she liked you. That sadly wasn't my case. In fact, she detested me the most. I was always the chosen one to scrape the gum under the lunch table or to clean the bathrooms on Tuesdays. I did as I was told without complaining, after all I cant let her get the idea that she's won.
"Sophie have you finished polishing the silverware?"
" Ms. Miller, they're plastic. What is there to polish?"
"Don't be smart with me you little pest and GET TO WORK"
"Don't worry. Soon you will be free from this pest. You won't have to worry about me any longer."
"Nonsense" she said snootily "No one in their right mind will want to adopt a piss off like you. Besides if you're still here after being 12 years old, there's no chance you'll get adopted."
"I do believe in miracles Miss. In fact I'm living one right now."
"And what miracle is this Sophie Brown?" she raised her eyebrow
"After living here for eight years with you I'm still alive.... that's considered a miracle... right Miss?"
"Just for that young lady you're scraping the gum off the tables tonight!"
"As you wish my lady." I bowed at her wretched presence
She hurried off to her office and locked herself in there. It was another one of her therapy sessions with her copy of " Fifty Shades of Grey" and her strawberry flavored Bacardi bottles.
I spent the whole God given night scraping the gooey and colorful gums from under the table. Some of them were still fresh, so I would get little samples of different varieties of saliva on my fingers.
"If only I wasn't such a smart mouth I'd be in bed by now." I told myself.
There really wasn't anything I could do about it. I mean, Cruela did ask for the things I told her. If I never got to tell her what was on my mind, I'm pretty sure I would eventually explode on the inside, and quite frankly I like my insides very much to let that happen to them.
I walked into my room and I lay on my old wooden bed. I felt so relieved after my head finally touched the pillow. I was closing my eyes until I remembered, "I have to look at the stars first!"
