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Life Of A Woman 's Body

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"Seventeen years I 've lived in this house. Now I 'm finally escaping." 
 The girl who whispered this wistful thought into the dark night was no more than seventeen years old, maybe by a month or two, but no more than a child in a woman 's body. On her lanky frame was a backpack, weighted with belongings, and if it weren’t for the hidden muscles keeping her upright, she would have been pulled to the ground by its weight. By her feet was yet another bag, a duffle, and it, in addition to the backpack, held the rest of her belongings. If anyone passed her on the street they might have thought she was going on a trip, or had just arrived from one, for no one in the town knew the business of her family. They would be wrong with either assumption. She was running away. 



She had a bus ticket in her hand, and her destination was far away. She would not be missed, of that she was certain. With four other children in the house she was often overlooked. The other children were younger and the product of her mother 's marriage. Her father was some John. She was the illegitimate freak. Second born, and out of wedlock, her mother and her husband never even tried to pass her off as their own. In a family of blondes, she was the only red head. She was not ginger; her hair was red, with a capital red. She had never dyed it, in fact she loved her hair color, but it set her apart. She must have received it from her dad 's side. She would not miss home. She could barely consider it home
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