We're Gonna Make It out of This Town

The little girl stared at the rows of cereal boxes, all brightly coloured and decorated with cartoon caricatures created in order to catch the attention of children and parents alike. People pushed their carts full of groceries past her; not one of the adults cared that the child's mother and father were nowhere in sight. The young child grabbed a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf and ran to the end of the aisle. Once there, she stopped to stare around

"Excuse me. Are you my mommy?"

The woman lowered her gaze to the little girl, and immediately, the stress of the day melted away. "Oh, honey, no, I'm not. Do you know where your mommy went?"

"Uh-uh. I haven't seen her for a long, long time."

"Why not?"

"The bad men took her away."

"Bad men?"

"Sh! They'll find me, too!"

"What's your name, honey?"

The child shrugged. "I never was told."

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go find someone."

"Can't I go home with you?"

The woman glanced around at the other shoppers. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. The girl's bright blue eyes were wide and innocent, causing the woman's hesitation to dissolve.

"Of course, honey. Get in the cart."

Twelve years later found the little girl not so little and still asleep, though she was on the verge of being late for school - again. Her teal-dyed hair was an utter mess, and her blue irises were hidden behind her eyelids, smeared with makeup from the day before. The large, black Metallica shirt she'd worn to bed was barely long enough to cover her behind, and it bared her slender legs. A pale hand shot out and slapped the snooze button on the screaming alarm clock.

"Blake, get up!"

"Mom . . . "

"Come on. If you're not up in the next thirty seconds, you can forget about going to your brother's show Friday night."

"That's not fair!"

"I think it is. Now, up!"

Black sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her mother left the room; the teenager knew better than to go back to bed. If she was later for school again . . . She shuddered to think about the consequences. Sighing, she grabbed the bag of cosmetics off her desk, the clothes from on top of her dresser, and the large round-barrel brush that was hiding under mattress. She pulled on the tight black jeans that bore multiple rips in the legs; to accessorise, she slid a studded belt through the loops and tightened it. Her form-fitting black Guns 'N' Roses t-shirt had a deep V-neck she'd cut into it that left hardly any of the imagination. She brushed her hair out, letting the long blue curls cover her shoulders, and applied her usual makeup: thick kohl, white face-powder with a hint of golden glow, silver lipliner, and clear gloss. After sliding on her heavy combat boots, she hurried down the stairs to find her brother and his friends heading to the door.

"Hey. Can I get a ride?"

"Blake, seriously, stop missing the bus," her brother grumbled. "You're getting annoying."

"Zach, seriously, stop being a bitch. You're sounding like you're PMS-ing."