Hey guys!! Here's a story that I might actually might update. I'm super excited.
Triggers: depression, child abuse (not in detail but still, a warning)
It gets sad at times, I'm sorry. But it will have a happy ending, at least what I think a happy ending is. You might have a different opinion.
Ok, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!
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I was running, as fast as I possibly could. The cold rain dampened my hair and jacket. I didn't expect it to rain today, I'm not used to this weather. Dark, dreary, rainy. London was not as amazing as I thought it was.

Though the people weren't that great either. That's who I was running from. The scariest group of people anyone could meet, the people that live in nightmares of children for years after an encounter with them.

Foster parents.

They weren't particularly pleasant people to be around as they kept me in a cupboard that they called a room. Fed me once or twice a day. Their daughters often made fun of me as well. Some days it was because of my hair, always very tangled due to my laziness. Sometimes it was for my clothing, which was always a compilation of dark shirts and skinny jeans. I probably sound like the stereotypical scene teenager. I'm pretty close to it, though I have a bit until I'm a teenager.

Anyway, they usually chased me around the mansion of a house my foster parents owned. The fact that I was always running confused the hell out of me, as I was always out of shape.

Times when I'm running, I have a stitch in my side and my breath comes out ragged whole my throat is burning. I've only been running for ten minutes, but at least I'm faster than my foster parents from the depths of hell.

Jeannie and Marcus Holmes. Cousin of the Famous (or infamous, whichever you fancy) Sherlock Holmes.