Run

I lay back, trying to keep my body small as possible. It isn't the easiest of jobs, being a runaway, and you don't really get anything from it- apart from safety, which is what I'm really lacking in right now.

"Hey, Orana!"

A thump, a foot made contact with the scrap of metal blocking the entrance to the hole I was hiding in.

"My turn to use the hole!"

That's Oz. It's not his fault he's a little mean, he's just used to bossing people around like the "mothers" at the foster homes bossed him around. Racism has driven us to hide, to run. The foster homes were ok, in a way- they gave us a bed, food, and education, but that didn't mean it was good. Mother Rita always told us to be glad we're alive. We escaped one night, through the window, including the white ones who felt it wasn't fair for us to be like that, even though they were happy. Like my best friend, Veronica. She doesn't care if I'm part indian, quarter african, does she?

"ORANA!"

"I'M GETTING OUT!" I yelled back. The Hole was our hiding place, where we rested while the others found other places to stay. You could say it was our home, in a way, though we knew as long a*s we stayed in Unova I had nowhere to call "home".

I stood up, brushed some of the new mud of my shirt. I didn't bother with the rest, at least it provided some sort of camouflage. I pulled aside the dustbin lid, revealing a tall african boy around 14. I don't really know how old I am, I think it's 14 or 15. I don't keep track of birthdays.

"Finally." He muttered, and staggered in. I just run. Running toward somewhere, I don't really know. The sky was dark and a nearby clock on a bus station told me it was 4:30 in the morning. At least it was night.

Even though I was small and light-footed, my sandals still made an awfully loud noise. I couldn't climb roofs like the boys and some of the others, but I was quick and looked pretty, which didn't sound very helpful but it was. I could charm an old man into giving us some food, any day, as long as I found a way to make my face look white.

I knocked on the window of a house from the tree in their garden. I knew someone in there would hear, at least. Hopefully...

"Hey! Open up!" I whisper-yelled. Sure enough, a figure appeared at the second floor right hand window of number 23, Whitehorse Road.

"Hi Ash!" I said, climbing through the window.

"Hi, Orana." He said, trying to smoothen his hair. Ash was white, sort of, asian. Came from Japan. The only reason his family hadn't been driven out was because they had a connection to the Kanto Royal family, and Unova wasn't exactly the strongest of places.

"Did anyone come and ask to take you?"

He laughed. "Course not! You know very well that would never happen."

I stroked my long braid. "Still, you never know what they might do."

"I guess."

A pause, then, "Orana?"

"What?"

"You do realise I'm not going to be here forever, right?"

"Uh-huh... Wait, what?!"

"I'm moving back to Kanto." He whispered. Realisation struck me like mother Rita struck my shoulder. I only had a while before he left.

"When are you leaving?"

"tomorrow."

"Then I'm coming with you."