My birth was a mistake. I should have never been born. A drunken man found my mother on the street and fucked her up. Nine months later, I was born. Now my mother, being only fifteen, was in no condition to take a child, so she left me on the streets to die. My “father” was a drunken bastard who was later found dead by a dumpster shortly after my mother came pregnant with me. Someone found me on the streets and took me to the police station, however, I was too young to tell them who I belonged to and my mother nor did anyone ever come for me. I was sent to live in a foster home. For fifteen years I was teased and taunted by foster children because I was different than the rest of them.

I have long black hair, and pure greyish-green eyes. I am anorexic and bulimic and my arms are covered in scars I have given myself with a pocket knife. I started smoking at age ten when I found a pack of cigarettes in one of my foster parents’ drawer when I was hiding from the other kids not wanted to get beat up again. I would even sneak down stairs in the middle of the night and drink gin from the cupboard. My ears are filled with holes from all the times I have pierced them, I even have a lip ring. I always where long clothes to cover up my scars that I bare, though my face shows my pain.

By the age of fifteen, I set out on my own, trying to find at least just one reason why I was brought to earth. I have searched and searched have yet to find an answer.

My name is Raven, I am sixteen years old, and I am alone...