My life sucks. My mom and dad are gone, my sister is pregnant at the age of fourteen, and my brother is on drugs. Then there's me, Faith. I'm the youngest in my family and the only normal one around the house. I live in Dallas, Texas in a small ranch out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. The house is very musty and cramped. They seem to take a liking to furniture because there is too much of it for such a small space. The shutters are crooked and falling off. They are bright yellow. The color of the house is like a forest green which doesn't even match. They think it looks nice. I think it stinks. I have one friend: my diary. My diary is the only thing I share my deepest thoughts and emotions with. I can stay up all night just sitting there, on my bed, thinking and crying. My heart is saying "get out of there, go on, go, go, go."

My life has never seemed to be good. There was a horrible car accident when I was only a year old. When I was a baby, there was a drunk driver that ran through a red light. He turned and was driving on the wrong side of the road. We stopped for the light. My mom turned around to give me my bottle as the car approached us. It came closer and closer and it finally hit us. My dad fell out of the car and my mom went through the windshield. My mother died and my dad was in critical condition. My sister was four and my brother was six. My two grandparents took us into their apartment in New York City. A few days later my dad passed away due to a puncture in his lungs that was not correctable. A few years later, my grandmother passed away and my grandfather committed suicide due to emotional depression over my grandmother's death. I was left to live with my sister and brother in my grandparents' apartment. My sister was too busy with her social life to take care of me. While I was at home by myself, my sister was out partying with her boyfriend. That girl has had so many boyfriends that I can't even count them all. First, Bob, then Rob, then Matt, Brian, Nick, George, Billy, Mike, Danny, and then I lost count. Now I can see why she got pregnant at fourteen. My brother was put in jail for the use of illegal drugs. Then I was put up for adoption, and a few months later, these two grouchy, self-centered people adopted me. I would have almost rather stayed in the orphanage. My new home was in a ranch in Dallas, Texas, and my own foster parents used me as a maid. I did all of the chores: laundry, dishes, garbage, vacuuming, scrubbing, and food shopping. The list went on forever. While they went to parties, I stayed at home and cleaned.

I need to get out of here. I can't take it anymore. My brain is going to burst. I need to escape to the real world. I will only take my clothes and my friend, my diary.

It's a Saturday, 8:00 PM, not quite dark out yet. They should be leaving the house any minute. Let's go through the checklist one more time: clothes and my diary. Perfect. They just left. I look around. I have to leave. Right now. I walk out the door and step out into the fresh air. I start walking. . . .