Dead End ★

Characters

Millicent, Rebecca, Eithan, James, Michael, etc

Description

     Millicent is a very special girl, barely 13. She lives in a poor, rundown city, living her poor, rundown life. She babysits a young boy who is even younger mentally, suffering from epilepsy. Her mother died when she was five, causing her single (and now handicapped) father to work extra hard, always leaving her home alone. Eventually, when she gets enough of the bullying she always suffers and living her current life, she turns to self harm.
     After going too far, and being sent to the hospital, her father realized that his only daughter, only family, needs more help than she is getting.
     And so, she is sent to the Frontenac Youth Services home, to live with many other kids her age and over that suffer just as much as she does.
     But the group home is not nearly as it seems.

{All pictures go to their respective owners.}
{All of this is a work of fiction; none of it is true. Any revelance to other stories, events or people is purely coincidental.}

Foreword

     A tear starts to run down my cheek, the salty liquid being wiped away quickly by the fabric of my sleeve. The substance left a darker mark on the blackness, and I sighed, the roaring of my best friend’s sister’s car filling my ears.
     “Come on, Millicent!” she yelled, tucking a few stray strands of her dark hair behind her ear before waving me over. Pushing myself up off the concrete steps of my school, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Hurry up, bud! Mike needs you,” she said, voice getting louder as my sneakers patted against the ground, my legs carrying me quickly to the older girl’s car.
     I wanted to tell Rebecca that I didn’t want to babysit him again. I didn’t want to help him with his math, or his science, or anything else. I didn’t want to be constantly annoyed by that kid again, and again, and again. But instead, I stayed silent, revelling in my thoughts as I open the passenger side door and jump in. Turning, I let my caramel hair create a curtain over my face, throwing my backpack into the back seat.
     As I turned back to face the front, however, Rebecca caught a glimpse of my face. Almost instantly, a worried look twisted her doll-like features. “You okay, Millie...?” she asked quietly.
     Nodding my head silently, not wanting her to worry, I slip my iPod out of my pocket to unlock it. As I find a new song to listen to, I reach up to pull the hair on the other side of my head down, enveloping my face so I could shield myself from the girl beside me. She said nothing in return, revving the engine as the car lurched gracefully forward.
     Staring out the window, I let my mind wander. It wanders everywhere, really, into no particular place; why does this happen to me? Why doesn’t dad care as much as he used to? Does it matter anymore? Does anything matter anymore...?