People of the world, I kind of really like this story, so please be kind and review and tell me if you do too. :)
Sam's mom lay sprawled across the mattress in her room with pockmarked twenty year old loser, both of them passed out, the various bottles surrounding them a testament to just how close they both got to killing themselves last night. All Sam can feel thankful for is that there was a sheet hiding their naked bodies from her eyes. She takes all the money from his wallet and leaves, the guy won't mention it to her mom, the creeps she brings home never do.
The air was cold as she stepped out of the building, her hair already in its natural ringlets looked so innocent, so unlike Sam. As she walked the pavements she walked far too often she just looked at the ground, its what she always did, better to look at the flattened chewing gum, the cigarette buts, even the used condoms that were just left all rolled in on themselves pathetically. Better to look at them than the rest of the world, the crappy world she lived in.
The converse Sam was wearing wearing were a present from Carly last year, they were all torn and dirty, but she couldn't afford to buy more and she was too proud to ask, eventually she would, eventually she'd have enough and then Carly would stop with that little coy sad smile when she asked if she was really Ok. Maybe she'd stop. The skinny jeans had been her mothers. She was in the habit of buying clothes far too small for her, because she used to be that size, then she'd realise they didn't fit, drink herself into a stupor and have sex with some loser she found at the dollar store. Sam's t-shirts where mainly from the dollar store, a few of her oversized shirts used to be her dads. Apart from that, pretty much all of her clothes were from charity shops.
A tramp lay in an old stained sleeping bag down a side alley Sam passed, she didn't spare him a second glance, he was always there.
Nothing near where Sam lived ever changed, the trash cans were always overflowing, there were always losers for her mom to pick up, there were always people moving, with little or no furniture, there were more empty and broken bottles than anyone would think to see, and the apart blocks were so crappy they barely reached over five storeys high.
It was a crappy part of town were people got mugged and beaten up daily, sometimes people even got killed, it never made the news, it was usually some drugged up teenager or hobo, who wants to hear about the eradication of the scum of the world? No-one. So Sam trudged through shadowed streets, twelve dollars in her pocket and shivers running up her spine.
It was better than staying at home, and being there to see whatever-his-name-is try to sneak out of the house and fail, better than staying to hear her mom scream at him, or even her, better than watching her mom open another bottle of whiskey that they really couldn't afford, and take just enough aspirins to worry Sam but never enough to really hurt herself.
This was why sometimes she'd spend up to a week at Carly's, trying to avoid the hell-hole that was home sweet home, trying to escape the damaged neurotic violent woman that was her mom, trying to run away from the life that was all trash can fires and broken windows. At Carly's there was always food, and the electricity never got turned of, and no-one ever threw bottles at her head or screamed at her for no reason. At Carly's it was all web shows and spaghetti taco's, happy adventures and sleepovers.
It was a very easy choice to make.