She' . . .

Trina gazed into the mirror, hating the way her reflection portrayed her. Her hair was disgusting; it had tiny pieces of God KNOWS what in it, her make-up made her look like a raccoon. Her lipstick was smeared and her earrings were falling out. Her clothes – God, her clothes. They made her look like a hooker. Who was she kidding! She is, no, was a hooker.

She reached into her bra to see how much money she had left. Fifty dollars. She left the rest room and went ti the clothes section of Wal-Mart. Thank God for cheap shit. She grabbed a five dollar shirt, ten dollar pair of jeans, and cheap two dollars worth of flip-flops.

Forty-three dollars left. Shit. Go to Subway, get a five dollar sub so I don't starve, and go to the gym. Free showers. She nodded to herself. Sounds like a plan.

After that, Trina felt refreshed. Clean. She was clean, had new clothes, ate, and hadn't even thought about alcohol the entire day! Once again, she checked her funds. Thirty-eight dollars. What in the hell could she buy with thirty-eight dollars?

She exited the dollar store with a birthday card envelope, a cheap small notebook, and a cheap case of pens. She sat down on a park bench and began her letter.

'Dear Mom and Dad,'

'I'm not sure if you're glad to hear from me, I just thought we ought to tell you hello. That I'm doing okay. Truly, I am! I have a job, I've got a roof over my head, and I'm not doing drugs! I'm good. And – for once in my life- I'm happy.

Take care of each other, and tell Tori I said hi!

Trina.'

She placed the letter in the envelope, leaving no return address and sent it off to her parents.

'Time to find that job, Trina.'She thought to herself. She stared at the city from under the bridge, watching the New York lights glitter and twinkle. 'And then maybe I can have a real roof over my head.'

She took out her old Pear Phone and set the alarm clock. She glanced at the cheap notebook and pens. Having a silent debate with herself, she realized she already lost (or won) when she began to write.

'I don't know why I'm doing this. It's not like anyone's going to read this anyway. I guess this is why I'm writing this. I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. No longer have to act, put on a big show for everyone. Act like everything is fine and dandy. And to know, that despite the fact I put on the grandest shows, they'll always blow up in my face.'

A few tears escaped her eyes. Taking a trembling breath, she continued to write, blinking away the tears.

'To you, notebook, I can admit I'm a failure. That I feel like I'm the shadow's shadow. I'm in a pit that is suffocating me in its darkness and pain; and I have no way or form of escape. But I am trying. I haven't touched alcohol for almost an entire day… it's been a very long time since I've done a thing like that. I'm only twenty – four, yet, I feel like I've lived two whole life times! Or maybe just two lives.

It hurts. Writing this down and living life… it hurts so much. When will it by my turn for a happy ending? When will it be my turn for a happy anything? Every time happiness is in my grasp, the wind blows it away, leaving me more hopeless than before…'

Trina closed the notebook and threw it, sobbing, and her body shook with tears. After a while, she closed the book and held it close to her chest.

"You're my only companion," she whispered dejectedly, "I can't bear to lose you too."

(A/N: I want to give Trina a happy ending, but this IS a tragedy so… Anyway, I have two endings. Maybe I'll have the sad ending as the real one, and then the happy one as an alternative. Yep, I like that plan!)