Alyss threw her clothes into the duffel bag. Then in went her books. Zipping that up, she popped open her suitcase and threw in her paint supplies, quickly locking it back up again. That day she'd come home to find Jones, her foster dad, passed out on the living room floor. Going into her room, she'd found her art destroyed. Torn and massacred, her things had been strewn around the room. She could tolerate physical and verbal harassment, they didn't hurt anymore, but to see her work, her friends, destroyed like that was the last straw.
She'd already shoved the majority of her things through the trapdoor, much to the surprise of its occupants. Erasing the trapdoor, she opened her window and dropped her things to the ground below. She knew why he drank. His wife and her foster mom, Linda, had died a few years ago. She also knew he blamed her. Linda had been protecting her from the Friends of Humanity and they had killed her. Alyss understood him, but she was far too afraid to stay. When he woke up, she knew he would come after her.
About to drop out the window, she remembered she was forgetting something. Clambering back in, she rummaged through her remains, looking for her tarot deck and stuffed rabbit. They were the only tings she had left from her original parents. Crawling under her bed, she found them. Tying the deck around her waist and hugging her rabbit close to her, she looked up to see Jones standing in the doorway.
"Where do you think you're going?" he slurred. Darting forward, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.
"Away. I'm going out." she whimpered. She let out a scream as he twisted her arm. Hearing a pop, she knew it was dislocated again.
"Where are you going?" he growled, pulling her back against him. She could smell the alcohol oozing off him.
"Nowhere." She whimpered. Apparently satisfied with her answer, he dropped her to the floor. Scrambling up, she made a mad dash for the window. Seeing her intentions, he let out a yell and dove after her. Too late. She threw herself out the window and prayed she'd be okay.
Picking herself up off the ground, she thanked whoever was listening that she'd landed on her duffel bag. Using her good arm, she popped her arm back into place, holding in the scream that threatened to escape. Slinging her duffel bag over her shoulders, she grabbed her suitcase and ran off the front lawn.
Behind her she heard the screen door slam shut as Jones came after her. Running into a church she hid behind a pew, holding her breath as Jones ran by. She could hear his threats and promises as he stumbled past, his shadow caught in the window. Crawling under the pew, she pulled out a blanket and used her bag as a pillow. Scrunching up, she fell asleep, exhausted by her efforts. Her last conscious thought was directed in way of a plea that she wouldn't be found.