I'm a Runaway

I'm Ellie Noel Carter. I'm sixteen years old, turning seventeen soon. I ran away from home at
age nine and life couldn't be better--not! I have no friends [make that social life] or job. I live in
the woods in an abandoned, broken down house with shattered windows and no door; you
could say washing myself in the nearby creek is 'showering' or whatever, but where else is
there to bathe? Most of the time--making it so that I don't starve--I steal from peoples homes
late at night or go into resturants, order food, then run off before getting the tab. Yep, i'm living
the life and keepin' it real...
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I woke up and yawned. The sun continued to shine through the window, and I stretched before slipping on the only pair of jean shorts I owned, and the worn tennis shoes. I wasn't very
hungry, so I skipped breakfast; I walked along the dirt path, careful not to get caught. I was
wanted in many places for stealin' stuff and whatnot. I've never been to jail and nor do I have
a criminal record but damn were people good artists with photographic memories. My face
was plastered everywhere reading: Girl on the Loose. Please Alert Authorities if Seen; Shuc-
ks I wasn't that bad. No 'thorities needed to be noticed 'bout me. But if they were, I'd be sent to Foster care and...school. I'm not dumb but I aint a smarty pants either. I mean, I knew the
survival rules, how to make fire, and swim. I even know how to add and subtract. I could get
somewhere in life, right? No. I wouldn't even get a decent job, for I wouldn't be able to step
one foot on the property here in this small town of Dallas, Texas. I was a criminal, a menace.

I climbed and sat upon my favorite tree, Mr. Oakie. I had my back against the bark and
stared at the blue sky like nothing could go wrong.

After three hours, I decided to go into town. I hid behind dumpsters and cut through allies until I made it to Quik-E-Shoppe. I entered silently when my arm was grabbed. I turned and
looked straight into the eyes of a chubby cop. "Hey! Whatchu want fucker?" I yelled at the top
of my lungs. The nut head towed me to his cruiser. I fought, but it was no use. He shoved me
in and I kicked and screamed like I was getting stabbed.

"Deputy Bill, I have caught the girl. She was trying to commit burgulary. She's also a fighter. I
will be there in five", the man said. I threw my arms around, and made threats to jump out
causing him to lock the doors. I wailed and cried; surely, five minutes later we pulled up at the station. Nut Head--that is my new nickname for the bastard--literally dragged me into the
quarters. Two more officers took hold of me and I wiggled and tried unsuccsesfully to bite
them.

I was thrown into a small, cold cell. I shrieked, stomped my foot, and banged my head like a
mad man. I wanted--no--needed to get out. Most of the reason of my doing was 'cause I was
clausterphobic; I knew that this wasn't just a time out and I could come out when I was done
with my fit. I'd probably be here for the rest o' my life. I sat down in the corner and weeped,
waiting for someone to come and hold me.

But no one was ever going to...