Cornelia Melbourne: 15 years old, caramel brown hair, milky brown eyes. (In the photo above.)

The only characters I own so far are Cornelia, Andrew, and Percy!!!!

Flashback:

"Andrew!" I yelled to my older brother as I entered the tiny apartment. He had saved me from our parents when I was young. He's about seven years older than me. I'm fifteen now. I work as a hand at a market and he works at Jacobi's Deli. "Andy!" I burst his door open, a little irritated that had had yet to respond. "And--"

Andrew was laying limp, slouched against his bed. In his hand was a bottle of pills. A chill went up my spine as I approached to see what was up. 

"Andrew, if this is some kind of sick joke, it's not funny." I told him. Then I kicked him. "Andrew!"

He crumbled over. I then mulled over things I could do in my head. If I call the police, they'll take me to an orphanage. If I don't, my brother will be rotting in his room.

"How could he afford this?" Hemlock acid. Wait, I thought, he didn't afford it. It's stolen.

At which point I bid my farewells to Andrew, packed up a few things, took our money, my red bandana, and left the apartment for good.

~One year later~

I took my brother's place at Jacobi's Deli and slept in a really old, trashed cot that the hospital had thrown out. I keep my bandana looped into the belt-loop of my skirt as a sort of good luck charm.

"Cornelia!" Mr. Jacobi called. I have gotten used to his mispronunciation of 'Cornelia'. He says it as 'Corn-Ellie-ah'. It's pronounced 'Corn-Eel-ia'. 

"Yes, sir?" I faced him. 

"You're fired." He told me flatly.

"What?" My face fell. 

"You can't work here anymore." Jacobi elaborated. "That's one too many times you've messed up or driven out a customer."

Without another word, I turned and left. Maybe it's a dream. Maybe if I go to sleep, it'll go back to normal.

The cot is gone. I cried out in frustration and turned tail, fleeing from the alley. 

That was a week ago. And now I'm sleeping against the hidden side of a dumpster. My food consists of stolen bread and pity-fruit. 

"Hi!" A little girl's voice sounded from beside me. I jumped.

"You shouldn't be here." I told her gruffly.

"Why not?" She cocked her head.

"It's not safe." I lied.

"You're here." She shrugged.

"Where're your parents?" I asked.

"Dunno." She shrugged. "What's your name?"

"Cornelia." I sighed.

"I'm Marcy." She smiled.

"Let's go find wherever you're supposed to be," I decided, standing up. She looked to be about four or five years old. She had the shade of blonde hair that would turn more of a mousy brown as she got older. When we exited the alley, I cupped my hand over my mouth.

"Anyone missin' a little girl?" I yelled, looking around for a reaction. A woman with dark blonde hair rushed over.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" She glared at me, whisking Marcy away.

"Oh." My face fell as they left. "You're welcome."

At that moment, everything seemed to fall apart. Not the streets, but my entire situation. I don't have a job. I don't have a bed. I'm seen as a stinking street-urchin. They don't trust me. There's nothing for me here. I'm alone. Forsaken. Invisible. Before I had another thought, I began the walk to the Brooklyn Bridge. It's probably a twenty minute trip on feet, one turn. I was storming with a mixture of angst, sadness, and hurt spiraling me further into a mental pit. 

"Watch where you're goin'!" Someone yelped as I accidently crashed into him. I was staring right in front of me, but I guess I was blinded by rage. "Woah, what's wrong?"

I refocused my eyes and saw a dirty-looking boy with jet black hair and and scatter of freckles dotting across his nose. 

"Never mind it." I said, tone close to a snap. I then continued my final walk. Alarm coursed through me when his hand closed around my wrist. "Whaddya want from me?"

"You look really upset." He pointed out, dark eyes wide. 

"What if I am?" I shrugged, trying to tug my arm from his grip.

"Where're you goin'?" He pressed.

"Brooklyn." I informed him, bending the truth the slightest bit.

"Why?" He cocked his head. Why hasn't he let me go?

"It just so happens that I got business on the Bridge." I turned my nose up and tugged more obviously. He didn't relent.

"What business?" His child-like demeanor dropped. "What're you gonna do on the Bridge?"

I didn't reply.

"Talk to me." He pleaded. "It ain't like you'll ever see me again if you're goin' to Brooklyn."

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded slowly. What do I have to lose?

Relief flooded his face. "Good. Thank you. The name's Elmer."

"Cornelia." I told him. He finally released my arm, then moved to sit down on a bench right next to where he was selling his papers and pat the spot next to him. 

"What's wrong?" He asked lightly.

"It's a long story." I shrugged, staring blankly out over the streets.

"I got all day." Elmer smiled. I didn't return the grin, but my heart lifted the smallest bit.

"My older brother died a year ago." I started, wording carefully, not keen on telling him what really happened. "I got fired from my job today and my bed ain't there no more."

"That ain't makin' for a good day." Elmer conceded.

"And there was this little girl who didn't have her parents with her," I told him as I recalled the day's events. "After I found someone, her mother didn't even say 'thank you'."

"That does happen more than I'd like to admit." He nodded, hanging onto my words.

"So I wanted to leave Manhattan." I lied again.

"You was gonna jump off the Bridge." Elmer shook his head solemnly. 

"What?" My eyes widened. How did he know that?

"I know that look anywhere." He continued. "You was done."

"I really should go." I said hastily, standing back up to leave. He stood up as well and grabbed my arm again. "I dunno what you want from me."

"I don't." Elmer shrugged, tightening his grip on my wrist. "But there's gotta be more opportunities other than whatever you did. Come to the Lodging House with me once I finish sellin'."

What's the worst that could happen?

Philippians 4:13, "I can do all this through him who gives me strength."