I walked home alone from school again. I had always been the "different kid." You know how teaches say that they don't have a favorite or least favorite student? Well, it's not true. I was the least favorite of all my teachers. I was the dyslexic, ADHD, orphan girl. I was surprised I hadn't been expelled yet. I was smart. I had potential, but I just couldn't get through school.

Since I was "different", I decided to use my difference as an advantage. Sure I sat alone at lunch and no one wanted to be near me, but I wanted to be noticed. I wore white T-shirts tucked into short khaki shorts with a brown belt. I wore brown combat boots. I got into fights, lot's of them. Though all the "victims" just claimed they fell over or got hit by a door if there was any blood or black eyes, which most of the time, there was.

I was walking through my neighborhood thinking about that day's finals, I was certain I had done terribly on them-most of the letters had just been attacking and killing each other-when I stopped in front of a pile of rubble that had once been my home. I dug frantically through the piles of wood, stones, and broken house appliances for my foster parents. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.

Then I found them, "No!" I cried, "No." I did everything I could: I shook them, did CPR, even mouth-to-mouth, but I knew I was too late. They were dead.

I heard a low growl behind me. I slowly stood up and turned around, "Woah, that's a big dog." It charged at me. It was about the size of a Chevy Silverado, but with its attitude, it was more of a Ford F-250. I dove out of the way just in time. He barreled past me. I got whiplash from his shaggy black fur. It sort of looked like a giant blood hound. He spun back around, his red eyes full of hate.

I glanced down at the wreckage. This was a dog, a giant one, but still a dog. I picked up a large piece of wood that had probably once been part of the frame of the house. The hound stopped and stared at the board. I chucked it as far as I could. It flew over the dog, he bounded after it. While he was gone, I searched for something to protect myself with. Possibly some knives or...a hammer! I pulled out a five pound hammer just as the dog came back with the wood. He dropped it in front of me and backed up for another throw. I picked it up again and threw it, this time with my right hand. But instead of going of the hound, it hit him in the head. He bared his fangs at me.

I shrugged, "Oh, well, see ya' dog!" I sprinted off, though I had no idea where I would go. The dog raced after me, barking so much I thought his head would fall off-I wouldn't have minded that.

I turned around and swung my hammer at his muzzle, "Take that, ya' stupid dog!" He whimpered and I hit him as hard as I could on the head. The giant hound collapsed on the ground. Then I fell next to him, breathing heavily.

"Where am I going to go?" I sobbed to myself.

Go to Manhattan, a voice said in my head.

"Great," I grumbled, "I just got attacked by a giant dog, and now I'm hearing voices in my head telling me to go to the other end of the US. Yep, I'm going crazy."

No, you're not. Go to Manhattan, the voice repeated.

"Okay, yeah. I'm supposed to go to Manhattan from San Diego, on my own, with no money, food, or water," I said, "Makes total sense. I don't even know which direction is east."

You're facing east, Raven.

"Now you know my name. Hooray," I stood up, "Well, I'm heading east." I began to walk to Manhattan. The walk didn't last long, though. The dog soon woke up and found me. I found an opening and was able to knock out the dog. I sprinted until I had lost the hound. For weeks I got my food from garbage cans-most of the time vomiting the disgusting waste back up. I only got water from rain, and it happened to rain quite a bit. Water had always replenished me for reasons I didn't know, but whenever it rained, or I went to the beach or the pool, I felt better. I forgot all my problems and just relaxed.

During those weeks, I had been chased by so many of those dogs. All of them were different. They all chased me and tried to kill me, and I knocked them all out with my trusty hammer, but then after a couple of hours, it was replaced by a new one. The first time I actually got a proper meal was about a month after I ran away. I had just made it to Salt Lake City, Utah. (Pretty good, huh?) A lady stopped me in front of a local Jack in the Box.

She had curly dark hair pulled into a ponytail and stormy grey eyes. She had just come out of a library that was next door, "Would you like some food, child? You look half starved." Normally, I would've said no, but I was in Utah, Mormon country.

I nodded, "Thank you, ma'am." She took me inside. I got a double bacon cheeseburger, a large thing of curly fries, and a large lemonade.

I walked into the restroom and looked in the mirror. A twelve-year-old girl looked back at me. She had a wild look in her sea green eyes. Flakes of dirt and dust had settled on her winded black hair. With a start, I realized I was looking at myself. I looked like some sort of hobo; well, technically I was. I wiped off my dirty face with a wet paper towel, but I couldn't get the wild look out of my eyes. It was sort of creepy.

I came back out to the woman and sat across from her. Our number was called. She smiled and stood up to get the food. She returned and set the food down in front of me, but I didn't take any notice. I was staring at the TV screen. The news was on:

Twelve-year-old Raven Jackson has now been missing for about one month. There has been no sign of her. There was no evidence that she was a victim of the collapsed house. Proper funerals have been given to Raven Jackson's foster parents: Roxanne and Gary Hefter. If you have any information about the whereabouts of Raven Jackson, please contact your local police.

They showed my school picture from that year. I noticed the woman looking as well. I began to eat my food as if there was nothing wrong with me being wanted on the news.

"Is that you?" the lady asked.

I hesitated, then nodded, "Please don't take me to the police. I don't want to go to the orphanage."

She smiled again, "I won't. Someone who can survive on her own for a month doesn't deserve to live in an orphanage." She studied me with those grey eyes. It was unsettling. This woman had a lot of intelligence and wisdom, I could feel it.

I wiped my hands on a napkin, "Well, thank you for the food. I should probably get going."

"Where are you headed?" she asked.

"Manhattan," I replied. I told her this because, even though she was a stranger, I had a feeling she wasn't going to hurt me. I heard a howl outside, "I really should get going," I said quickly, "Again, thanks. It was good meeting you." I rushed out the door. I then realized I had never asked her name. I was about to go back inside when I saw a large, dark black shape come out of the shadows.

I was back to my usual routine: knocking out the hounds and running away. The weird thing: no one seemed to notice the giant hounds chasing me. It was like they didn't even see it. I wasn't able to have another break until I was in Charleston, South Carolina, but back to that later. I was in Milwaukee, Wisconsin-I had accidentally gone northeast, oops-fighting another hound. This giant dog was different from the others. This one was more...graceful. (Can giant dogs be graceful?)

"Wow, you're agile, aren't you, boy?" The hound got really angry at me with that comment. I almost got my head bitten off, but luckily I dodged. "Wait, you must be a girl!" That was my first, and only encounter with a female giant hound on my journey.

I was fighting her by a local Harley-Davidson store. A brutal-looking guy was checking out some slick-looking bikes. His black hair was buzzed into a crew-cut. He had a lot of scars probably meaning either he had crashed a bike into some barbed wire without wearing a helmet, or he got into a lot of fights. I was going to go with the fights. He was wearing dark sunglasses, a leather biker's jacket, worn-out jeans, and black biker's boots. He had a hunting knife strapped to his right leg. He sort of had an aura of hate around him. Don't ask me how I knew this; it was like the lady at Jack in the Box. She had an aura of knowledge and wisdom. This guy had hate, anger, power, and fury.

With a loud cry, I brought my hammer down on the dog's head. She instantly crumpled to the ground. I could've sworn the guy glanced at me and then at the dog. I ran off of fear of what that guy could do to me.

As I said, my next break was in Charleston, South Carolina. I was walking along South Battery Street, admiring the beautiful architecture of the Colonial mansions. I looked out at Charleston Bay and breathed in the salty air, it felt good. I was tempted to jump into the water and just relax.

No, Raven, I scolded myself, You've got a job to do. Remember Paul McCartney's song Live and Let Die. The quote "When you've got a job to do, you've got to do it well." That's what you're going to do. You need to get to Manhattan, like the creepy voice in your head said.

I felt someone coming up behind me. I pulled out my hammer and spun around. I gasped. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen stood in front of me, smiling. Her eyes were a soft brown, no, blue, wait, green! They seemed to keep changing. Her whole appearance seemed to be changing. One minute her hair was blonde and curly, the next minute it was straight and brown. She was dressed as a Southern Belle. Her dress was rose pink with white ruffles and cuffs. She held a matching parasol in white silk gloves.

I was instantly jealous, Why can't I look that amazing? But then I realized that she was making me jealous. Her aura was jealousy, but I knew she wasn't going to hurt me.

She gestured to a gazebo in the middle of the park, "Would you like some tea?" She didn't wait for an answer. She began to walk towards the gazebo. I followed. The table was topped with a pink tablecloth-I was finding this a bit too pink-china plates, cups, saucers, and a teapot were decorated with pink roses. Cookies and biscuits were piled onto some plates. Tea steamed out of the teapot. Fine sugar sat in a bowl.

She poured some tea, "How many lumps, dear?"

"Two, please," I sat across from her. She handed me my tea. I lightly blew on it and took a small sip, "Thank you."

"My pleasure, darling," she took a sip from her own cup; perfect posture: right pinkie out, holding her saucer, sitting straight, "Now, are you interested in any boys?"

I snorted, "Besides for punching bags? No. Anyway, everyone hates me. Boys wouldn't want to date me. I'm too different," I spat.

She stared at me, "But you're beautiful, darling! When you get to wherever you're going, find yourself a boy."

The woman was really starting to annoy me. I took a bite of a cookie, "Lady, I'm only twelve," I looked down at my watch, and my eyes widened, "Wait! I'm thirteen! My birthday was two months ago today!" I couldn't believe I had missed my own birthday. I finished my cookie.

"Then you need a birthday makeover!" she exclaimed.

"No, I don't," I growled. I saw a giant dog charging over, "Well, see you, annoying lady." I jumped out of my seat, grabbed my hammer, and charged. I could feel the lady frowning at me, but I didn't care. I knocked out the dog and ran north.

A month and two days later, I was in Trenton, New Jersey. It had been just longer than a year and two months since my foster parents had been killed and I ran away. It was August 20, 2013. I was strolling down the streets of downtown Trenton, when a cab stopped at the curb next to me and the cabbie came out.

"Would you like a ride?" he offered.

"I don't have any money," I admitted.

He stroked his chin, "You seem like a nice and honest girl. If you can tell me the manufacturer, make, and model of my cab, I'll take you anywhere you want for free."

I grinned, "Sir, you've got yourself a deal!" The manufacturer and make were easy: Chevrolet Impala, but the model was a little harder, "Do you mind if I take a look under the cab?"

He shrugged, "Sure you can. Or, you can always dial a friend," he pointed to a mechanic's shop.

I scowled, "I don't have any friends. I never have," I looked down, "And never will."

The man put a hand on my shoulder, "Hey, you're going to a new place. A place with new people. You'll make plenty of friends."

I gave him a faint smile, "Thanks," I climbed under the cab. You couldn't always rely on the parts of the car, but for a long time, the Impala's body shape has been the same, the body wasn't going to be any help, so the parts were my best chance. From my study of Chevrolet car parts, most of the parts seemed to be the 2010 model. I got up, my face even dirtier than before, "Seems to be a 2010 Chevrolet Impala."

He beamed at me and opened the right rear door, "Right, you are. Now, where do you need to go?"