This is how we run
Prologue
The thunder echoed loudly, completely horrid and evitable, coming closer every step she took. Her feet pounded on the cobble road, thudding fast through the night like a horse with his carriage. The small body she ran with slowed down with exhaustion and huffed and puffed with exhilaration. It took effort to get to where she was, and even though it hurt her, she was proud of where she was.
She must admit, it wasn't the best of places to be. It was actually quiet dreary and risky. Her torn garments flapped loosely around her body, showing exactly how much time she's spent in them, showing just how much thought was given to her wellbeing. The clothing was murky and damp, filthy and raggedy. Even though she craved for a bath she hadn't had in so long, she fought on ahead, towards what she hoped would be safe enough. Right now, to her, anything was safe enough, as long as it wasn't there.
Now, I guess she should explain. This girl, she was sixteen, young and not innocent in the least. She had wild black hair, with the tint of green in which she somehow inherited from people who have brown and brown hair. Not just brown, but puffy, horrible, dried out hair which stuck in all directions and looked as if it had toned out and became red. She was lucky in a way, because she'd rather not look like an electrocuted clown. She was tiny, thin and bony all around. Who could blame her? She hadn't eaten a good meal in so long. She had faded out eyes, ones that showed just how much she was abnormal. Towards anybody she knew or had the decency to meet, thought she was the devil's advocate or child, and deserved everything she had coming to her. They treated her harshly, corrupting her into thinking she should die, and if she shall not die my her own merciful hands, then she shall cower under the touch of horrid people, who did many the worse to her body, and deceived her, making her think she was likable until they took her over, and used her to their own wicked needs.
She felt violated and disgusting, but what did she deserve? She was the life they owned. They were the lives she cowered under, and obeyed, and used to cry about. Now she cried nothing.
This girls name was Anella, and she was me.