Chapter 1

Andersonville was a large town north part of Minnesota, close to the Canadian border. It was the type of town that everyone wanted to live in. Practically every house had big front yards with white picket fences surrounding them. The people who lived there would spend their mornings waking up to their perfect lives with their perfect families. They would go outside with smiles on their faces as they waved to their neighbors and got into their fuel-efficient cars to go to the job they love.              

And at night, they would come home, have a perfect dinner before going to bed to repeat the exact same thing.                                       

Andersonville was actually a nice town, but I would never know that. I would never know that they had one of the best high schools in the state. I would never know that I could have gotten help from one of the many centers scattered around town that are aimed at helping troubled youth. Youth just like me.                       

There was a darker side to Andersonville that most people didn’t want to know about. It was known as South Andy. That side of the track wasn’t as welcoming as the rest of the town. It was dilapidated mostly. All the houses were either abandoned or condemned, but that didn’t stop most people from living in them.                   

I looked up at myself as I stood in front of the mirror. The house I was in was empty, but that was because it was abandoned when I had broken into it. I knew it was risky staying here, but there were no other options. I had nowhere to go, and it’s not like I wanted to go back home, not after I’ve gotten this far.                       

‘Worthless little whore’                                

Squeezing my eyes shut, I gripped the sides of the sink. The shrill sound of my mother’s voice rang throughout my head. Those were the last words she said to me. That was the last straw for me though. After that, I decided it was best for me to leave.       

Both of my parents were more interested in a crack pipe then me, their own daughter. There was never a time when I saw both my parents sober. There was even a time where I had accidently eaten a dime bag of meth when I was only eight years old. I was stupid enough to think it was crushed up blue Jolly Ranchers. After I gotten home from the hospital after almost dying, my parents beat me after eating their daily dose of crystal blue. It’s amazing that social services never took me away from them. They probably thought a child doped up on drugs wasn’t a priority. From time to time, I could still feel the sting of my father’s leather belt on my skin.                   

In the distance, a clock tower that was on the nicer part of town went off. I counted the number of chimes that went off under my breath.                   

Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   
Ding                                                   

It was seven o’clock. I sighed as I looked up. I caught a glimpse of my dark grey eyes in the mirror. The candle I had lit provided enough light so I could see my reflection, but I did not like what I saw looking back.                           
I looked just like my mother, at least, a version of her that wasn’t addicted to meth. Normally, my brown hair was wavy with light curls, but it’s been days since I was able to shower, so I hid it under a black beanie. I was always a thin girl, but ever since I've left home, food was scarce. I did pack supplies before I left, but there’s only so much you can buy with forty dollars over a two-month span. Now, my face was thinner and more defined. Whenever I took off my shirt, I could see my skin hugging to each rib.                                                   

With money being an issue, I had to find some way of earning it. At first, I thought about stealing wallets and purses, but the thought of stealing made me feel sick. Since I was young, a runaway, and homeless, no one dared to give me a job. I tried back when I was in Ohio, but I was almost arrested because I let it slip that I left home. Good thing I was a fast runner.                                   
Prostitution was out of the question, so I went with the next best thing that I could think of, which was still kind of illegal. Apparently underground fighting was big in Minnesota, and I could fight a little. As a kid, I took karate. Which was strange because my parents paid for me to go and were always there to cheer me on. However, that was all a fantasy. A month in, my father broke in and tried to steal the checks that all the parents wrote. In his drugged-up state, he thought it was a good idea to take them to a bank to cash them in. That didn’t end well for him. He got a six-month sentence in jail, and I got kicked out of the karate class with a lifetime ban.               

I reach down to get my backpack. When I left, I didn’t take much with me. Only some clothes, a toothbrush, my favorite book, and a small swiss army knife that I had swiped from my father before I had left. When I left home, I thought I would have been somewhere better by now, but I wasn’t.                               
I pull out a jacket that was a little thicker. It was late august, and yet it was colder than I would have originally expected. After I zip it up, I walks over to the window that I had covered with a blanket. I peered outside and sighed.                   

It was dark outside, and there was no doubt it was going to snow tonight. The street below was empty except for a straggler walking down the street every now and then. The moon was full, and it hung above the houses. Since there were no working street lights outside, that was the only source of light for the area.               

I let the blanket slip through my fingers as I walk away from the window. I knew I had to leave soon. I didn’t want to, but I needed the money. With a sigh, I sat down on a little stool I had found and quickly pulled my shoes on, which were falling apart.       

With a groan, I got up from my seat and flung my backpack onto my back. I didn’t want to leave my stuff in an abandoned house, but I was afraid that if I did that, someone could come in and steal my things.                               

The moment I got outside, a sudden gust of wind blew straight through me, and all I wanted to do was run back inside. I kept walking though, out into the alleyway that was behind the house. Once I was walking, I started to head to the place where the fights were.                                               

It wasn’t long until I reached the old factory where the fights were held. Near the river, there was a factory that I had assumed was for steel. It was an old building, and most of the windows were already broken. There were a few people hanging around outside. By one of the entrances, there a group of well-dressed teenagers about my age. They were all boys, and they shouldn’t be there.                           
“Hey,” one of them said as they looked me up and down as he bit his lower lip. I glanced his way as I walked past him. He wore dark jeans and a heavy looking coat that made me slightly jealous. His light blond hair was falling in his face as he looked down at me.                                                   
I walked past him without a word. If I didn’t want to talk to him, then I didn’t have to. Once I was inside the building, I walked past other people who were loitering around. A few were standing around a fire in a metal trashcan to stay warm, and the others were sitting around on some equipment that was laying around.               

I walked deeper into the building. Against the wall was a table where I was supposed to sign in for a match. The last time I fought here, I had won. Barely. But that was a week ago, and the twenty dollars I had won was almost gone.               

“Sarah,” the man sitting behind the table said gruffly. His name was Tim. I didn’t know much about him other than his name.                               

I smiled softly as I took the pen and signed my fake name down. I didn’t want them to know my real name was Dawn. If someone found out that I was a runaway, they would turn me in. It would be wishful thinking that no one reported me missing, but I knew that was a daydream.                                       

After I signed in, I walked away from the table and went to go off and stand by the wall. I kept to myself with my head down. I was never a social person, and I didn’t mind.                                                   

It wasn’t long before the matches started. I didn’t move any closer than I had to. The sounds of people shouting at the fighters and the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed off the walls. It wasn’t loud, but the sound was deafening to my ears.           

All around there were people placing bets on the fighters, and it was disgusting. I didn’t like how this was the only way to make money to survive, and I secretly wished that I would have planned this out more.                               

“Match nine,” the sound of Tim shouting rang throughout the building. I pushed off against the wall and made my way through the crowd. It was silent when I walked, and my heart was beating faster. I wasn’t all the way healed from my last fight, but this was something I had to do.                                           
When I got to the makeshift ring, which was just a circle drawn in chalk on the concrete, I looked up at my opponent. She at least had a seventy-pound weight advantage against me, as well as at least a few inches too. I looked at her expressionless as I walked over to Tim.                                       

“Can you hold on to this?” I asked softly as I handed him my backpack that contained all of the things that I owned. Tim nodded as he took my bag and slung it onto his back.                                             
“You girls know the rules. No weapons. No fighting dirty,” Tim said as he pointed at each of us. I glance over at the woman I was fighting. She had to be in her late thirties. Her blond hair was wiry, and she looked like she had a crazed look in her eye. I didn’t like that, and my gut was telling me to run, but it was too late.           

When the match started, the girl swung straight towards my head. I barely dodged that, but the woman wasn’t in a defending stance and I saw an opening. I mustered all the strength I could and punched the girl as hard as I could just below the ribcage.                                                
It didn’t even phase her.                                       
The woman backhanded me in the face, causing me to stumble back a bit. I could taste blood in my mouth, and I knew my lip had split open from the amount of pain that it caused me.                                               

After a few seconds, I regained my composer as I threw my fist at the girl’s head. Pain erupted through my hand, causing me to cry out in pain. The girl must have had a metal plate in her head or something. The woman stumbled back as she grabbed her head. I looked up at the girl. She was looking at the ground with her back to me. I saw this as my chance and decided to run and jump on her back in hopes of trying to choke her.                                                   
The woman seemed startled that I was on her back now. I had expected that the woman would try to fight her as I blocked her airways. Instead, the woman gripped me by the scruff of her neck and threw me over her shoulder. I let out a yelp of pain and landed on the concrete with a loud thud. All the air got knocked out of my lungs and pain washed over my body.                                   
The people who were watching were hollering in delight. Most of them were demanding more. I could feel tears starting to form in the corner of my eyes, but I would be damned if I let them fall. I turned my head to see that teenage guy who tried to talk to me. He looked mortified. It was his own fault for coming to a place like this.        The woman started to kick me in the stomach, and a new type of pain came from my core. I cried out in pain as I clutched her abdomen. The kicks kept coming until I couldn’t move anymore, and it was getting tougher to breath. I tried to get up, but every time I tried, I would just get knocked down again.                       

I laid there motionless as the woman continued to assault me. Every kick as well as every breath I took sent waves of new pain throughout my body. I barely had the strength to reach my hand out to tap the floor in defeat.                       

“That’s the match,” Tim called out and the woman stopped mid kick. I was grateful that the last one didn’t come. I knew that her ribs weren’t broken, but they were definitely bruised.                                       

The crowd around me booed at me as I tried to get up. When I got on my feet, it took all my strength I had not to fall. I slowly turned to Tim, who was standing right next to me.                                               
“Better luck next time,” he said as he made no eye contact and stared at the ground. I snatched my bag out of his hand and began stumbling towards the exit.       

I could feel the eyes of everyone watching me as I walked out of the building. I didn’t blame them. I probably looked awful. There was even a good chance that I had blood smeared on my face.                                        

“Hey,” called out a voice that caught my attention just as I got outside. I turned around and saw the boy from earlier running towards me. I thought about walking away, but I knew he would catch up with me since I was moving slowly. “Are you okay?” he asked when he reached me.                                   
I narrowed her eyes at him. “I'm fine,” I said as I started to walk away from him, but a sudden sharp pain in my side caused me to hiss out in pain.                   

“You don’t seem fine,” he said with concern etched on his face. “Can I give you a ride home? You shouldn’t be walking in your condition.”                       

“No thanks,” I say bitterly as I try to walk, but he steps out in front of me. “Dude!”                                               
“Then let me walk you home then,” he offers.                           

“Yeah, like that’s not creepy at all,” I say rolling my eyes.                   

“That does sound creepy,” he admits after a few seconds. “I'm sorry. It’s just…you look like your hurt and I just want to help. I've had my ass handed to me a few times and it wasn’t fun.”                                       

“Listen,” I sigh as I look up at the boy. “I don’t want your help. I can take care of myself.”                                               

“But-“he started to say but I started to walk away as fast as I could. I would have run, but I was afraid that if I did, I would pass out from the pain. I didn’t turn back to look at him as I left. I knew that he wasn’t following me, but I could feel his eyes still on my back.                                               

It didn’t take long for me to get back to the abandoned house that I was staying in. It had started to snow as I was walking. The snow made it harder for me to stay focused and awake. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep, but if I did that in the street, I wouldn’t make it through the night.                           

Once I was inside, I carefully eased myself on the couch that was all tore up. One of the springs poked through one of the cushions and was jabbing my in the back as I laid down, but I didn’t care. A little more pain didn’t matter at this point.               

The tears I was holding back started to silently fall. I made no move to wipe them away since all my strength was gone. I just laid there silently shivering, somehow managing to fall asleep at some point.                                   
Before I passed out, the image of the boy popped up in my head. He was the first person who I had really talked to since I left home. Even though our conversation was weird, I thought it was nice to talk to someone. The last conversation I had with someone else besides him and Tim was to a child I had seen a few weeks ago. I didn’t remember what we had talked about, but it was nice.