Ok, like I said, the first part of this I wrote a year or two ago, for a semi-failed Lodging House project, and its been re-written, the rest of it, I'm writing now. I'd love it if some people could review...anyone...they make me happy, even bad ones. Oh, and I don't feel like I have to defend this as a "not a Mary-Sue" story, cause part of it was around before that term (coined by Tuesday, I believe) was even around, in reference to Newsies:) Ok...thats a lie...shes not a Mary Sue cause shes mute...for a while!!! Sorry, couldn't help it.
She slowly opened her eyes. All she saw were blurry, unrecognizable faces standing over her. She was in an unfamiliar room, and in a bed for the first time in a long while.
Her mother had died when she was about five, which hadn't been particularly upsetting for Anne, because from what the girl could remember of her, she had been drunk anyways. Her father, however was worse, much worse. The whole nine-yards really, he was a drunk who beat her constantly. For as long as she could remember, he had locked her in a closet, or anywhere else out of the way that he could think of for days at a time,with nothing to eat, and nothing to drink. He seemed to blame her personally for his shortcomings, his lack of a job, his lack of a wife, his lack of a nice home, all were apparently her fault. She had been subjected to this treatment for about eleven years, it was all she knew. As of the last few weeks the beatings had gotten progressively worse. Then one day she walked by her father's bedroom, and saw him passed out on his bed. Something rose up in her then, utter and total revulsion towards everything, herself, her father, and what he was doing to her. So she did what she probably should have done a long time ago. She ran. She just ran, and she never once looked back. Her one problem was that she couldn't have picked a worse place to run too. In the next three months or so, everything that could have possibly happened to her did. She got beaten, raped, mugged, and even once, in a case of mistaken identity, shot at. Her biggest problem was that while all this was happening to her she couldn't scream. She couldn't even speak for that matter. She hadn't been able too since she was very little.
Anne blinked and gazed up in confusion at the faces above her, and then, shaking, got as far away from them as she possibly could. When she hit the wall she stopped and looked at them, her eyes wide with fear.