TWO

There are three things I need to tell you. Three things that have become an unwelcome part of my reality. These things make who I am somebody I never wanted to be. And if I could only make them untrue, I’d give up anything.  

 

1) You get desperate sometimes. And desperation can lead to regretful things. Things you could never see yourself doing. Things that once, in another life, would repulse you.

            2) Without money you have nothing. I know people teach you that money isn’t everything, but to have absolutely none at all, you learn that money is in fact your life. NO money equals no food, no new clothes when it gets cold outside. You can’t live without the dirty paper when you’re on the run. You can’t steal it all, that’s just not possible. 
             3) Men are petty, disgusting, and crude, but so easily predictable. When it’s put right in front of them, they will do anything for what they want. They will pay, anything. 
             I do what I have to do to survive. I did what I had to do to get the money I so desperately needed. You see, the nights are getting much colder lately and the flimsy sweatshirt I have will only hold off the chill for so long. 
             I only did it once, only got into one car, but I dare not think of the events that took place that night. If I dwell on them I know I will break fast, so I try my best to forget about where I got the money for the winter coat I now wear on my back. Though a promise I made to myself then leaks back into my head now.
             Waking up in that awful bed next to that horrid man I vowed only one thing. I swore to never again be at the mercy of a man. The way they control and twist, pouring pain into everyone they touch. Into me. Men, boys, they know no gentleness, only the harsh ways of hatred; all of them, the same.
              Never again.
             And so now, walking down a back road watching leaves begin to turn gold, I cast away the thoughts of then, turning instead to the present.
             A few miles back I passed a sign marking the boundary line of Montana. The land itself I notice has been mirroring the changing leaves along the way. The ground has become dryer, cracking around the edges. I can see large rocks protruding in the distance as I stand on a hill, overlooking the new state. Pine trees are littered across the floor, patches of them escaping the tan tundra that is Montana.
               The changes in scenery had been subtle before but now it stuns me as they shout out in unrecognizable voices. Dust fills my nose every now and then as a gush of wind whips by, the heat of the sun in seeming to suck away what little water the ground holds. The sun was hot before, but it wasn’t so scorching as it is now. Although the night, well, at night it’s a whole new world all over again.
               My first night in the dry state of Montana is a harsh one. As the sun sinks down behind a rocky overpass, it takes with it the heat causing sweat to blossom from my skin. Yet after only a few hours I wish for the grueling heat to return.
              The air turns to ice, my breath making white clouds in front of me as I walk, arms wrapped around my body, down the road. The now familiar gravel crunching under my worn, black converse tennies. Out here, surrounded by frighteningly tall trees, the dark becomes even darker. Occasionally though, when the trees thin out, I can look up to see the most beautiful sky, soothing my overworked nerves.
              Stars burst out amid the expanding darkness like a million diamonds scattered across smooth black velvet. I admittedly was never one for diamonds, but to see the sky as it is now, I long to hold everyone of them with steady, unscarred hands.
              There were nights, back in the house of my nightmares, when I would sneak out my window onto the tattered roof. Those were the worst nights, when screaming had long since been outdone by striking blows and drunken fires. Those were the nights when I’d feel the most raw, confused, and oh so tired. Those were the nights when I’d climb to the roof and escape into starry skies. They never appeared like this though, so grand and bright.
                The stars, of course, no matter how hard they may try, cannot take away the cold that is slowly wracking my body. I wander along a path for a while more before coming to a rest on the outskirts of yet another small town. Knowing nothing will ensue until the sun once more rises, I hunker down against the distorted V shape of a tree’s trunk, burying myself in my coats shallow warmth. Closing my eyes and taking in the different sounds around me, I slowly creep towards star filled dreams.

Reviews

[Ryan Zeller]

I think there's two new, important ideas you've introduced to that you should really focus on:

1) Elsie's distrust of men (and people in general). Over the course of the story, Elsie should confront this lack of trust. That's a good spot for a new character to come in and change her mind about people, but it should be a slow process considering how much Elsie has been through.

2) Elsie's home life. You gave the reader a little hint in this chapter, and I think that's something you should continue. Be sparse and vague when it comes to her unhappy past. I think, when her story is revealed, it should be within dialogue between her and another character. Perhaps the same character with whom she's learning how to trust.

(You don't necessarily have to use these ideas, of course. It's your story and you make the decisions, so just think of these as my personal suggestions.)

One last thing: thus far, the narrative has been in the style of "these are things that have happened to Elsie, because she has spent a lot of time out here." There's nothing wrong with that, but at a certain point the storytelling should come into the present. That's especially important if you want to introduce dialogue between Elsie and other characters, which I'm looking forward to seeing.

[Kohleen]

your reading my mind ;D