Hey there. I'm Mallory.
So yeah.
I live on the streets, surviving off of things, er, *borrowed* from stores. Hey, I need it more than they do. A couple of years ago, when I was 12, my house burned. I had an okay life. My dad was a lawyer, and my mom stayed at home watching me, my little brother Andrew, and my little black puppy named Rebbeca.
Everyone died in the fire.
Except me. I got the huge scars on my arms and face. Yay, right?
I used to be pretty. Not beautiful, omigosh-I-want-to-marry-her pretty. Just...pretty. I have dark brown hair and green eyes. I used to have full lips and a ski-slope nose.
The fire ruined that. Now I have huge red stripes on my face. I used to be skinny, but a healthy, good-looking skinny. Now, from the nights where I can't eat, I look anorexic.
Mallory paused. She wasn't sure that starting a journal was a good idea, but she needed it, deep in her soul. She picked up the pen and started writing again.
This better be worth it. You cost me a lot. I usually only get the essentials, but I took the luxury of *borrowing* you, and even a pen! I'm becoming more efficient with this, though. I have to watch the cameras. Sometimes, when I don't think I can get food out the door, I eat in the bathroom.
YOU ARE READING
The Wings (On hold sorry guyz)
Teen Fiction"Sir? I think you just turned the wrong way?" He turns around and grins. "No." he says. "Yes!" I insist. "This isn't the way to my, um, my house." His eyes dance with amusement. "Who said we were going to your house? Mallory is a homeless runa...
