Prologue
Nina's mother was very rich much in contrast to how they were doing at the moment. Her father took all of their money and left her mother for another woman. Instead of finding a job or fighting back in court, Nina's mother stayed put in the streets. She always said that they would at least have a blanket to sleep on when many other homeless people would lay on the brick hard ground. Every day Nina would do the same thing; she would help her mother hunt for food. Patch up their blanket with some whatever thrown out fur they can find. Sometimes though something special will happen, and it makes both these days so much brighter. Sometimes thought bad things will happen, some of which may affect the way they live forever.
CHAPTER 1: My Home
I lay on my blanket shivering as the windy breeze passes by, all I ever had was this blanket. Only large enough to let me lay on it, but never to cover myself with it. A few people passed and I could feel their gaze lingering to mine, but they weren't laughing nor grieving. Just staring, I tried to read them, but they seemed to be unreadable. Were they making fun of me on the inside, or where they just zoned out? "Mom when can we leave the streets I'm turning 12 in a few months, and 10-year-olds are staring at me weird." "Is it because of my rags, or the fact that I'm laying down on a blanket with only short sleeves on!" My mother stared down at me with a look of melancholic, she slowly reached her hand out to comb my straight brown hair that started to get rusted. It was getting far too dry and knotted, after a year of being on the streets my hair had seen the worst of it. Split ends all over the bottom of my hair, slowly as my mom combed my hair, strands fell out like rain drops. Slowly but steadily, they come down onto the ground, never coming back to the clouds. This is my home, this is where I live and as much as I would like to be mad at that. It was my father I was truly mad at; he was the real sick son of a b*tch that had put me in this situation. "Mom I promise if I get any opportunity and I mean any I will do it as long as it helps us get out of here," I cried. But my mom was fixated on something else, judging by her face it looked like something far too dire from getting off the streets. "Mom watch out no!" but it was too late the bullet had stabbed my mom straight in the heart. She was immediately knocked out, I tried to look for any pulse, breathing anything! Nothing. She was now dead, I looked across to the person who had shot, they were covered in a sticky looking black suit. They had one of those special gears for holding a gun in the most precise angle, "you f*cking a*sshole you killed my mom!" I cried out. I proceeded to pick up piles of rocks that I had built a mini mountain with my mother. I chucked the rocks at the intruder while running, adrenaline in my bones. I was now crying, cheeks to neck. "F*CK YOU!" I screamed. Then right at that moment the intruder disappeared, I broke down onto the concrete ground. "F*ck you!" I now shouted crying, I chucked the rocks on the ground and one came hurling back at me. It cut though my arm enough to make a mild scar. Blood was dripping down from my arm, the pain too unbearable, both mentally and physically. I lay on the ground, cold and unwelcoming, but I still force myself onto it as the tears reach the ground forming little puddles. When I finally felt a little better, I got up from the ground and wiped my tears, I sniffled once, than realized that I was sick. I than turned around but realized that I was so busy chasing the intruder around that I lost track of where I was going. I was now lost on the streets, no mother or father, open wound, a sickness that would most properly never go away, and my grief. Me myself and my grief. Laying down on one ground, cuddling with each other, but no warmth aided. Just sadness and depression. I curled up on the ground, remembering what my mother said about people that lay on the streets, now I was more grateful than ever.