Scent of Desperation Pages 1-2

I walk through the halls, staring straight into the eyes averting my chilled over gaze. No one is my friend here, everyone is an enemy, easy prey. I've only had one friend before. My dad. My life was once a four-year-old fantasy...

I wanted to be a model when I was little. My daddy made that dream come true. The memory gave me the most pride and hope a four-year-old could ask for. Daddy told me to put on my Easter dress, my best one. It was blue, a white lace fringe at the bottom and a white collar to match. Ducks covered the blue dress. Different colors, sizes and shapes...all ducks.

Momma held me close that day, when we were a family. She had small elegant fingers that braided my hair, intertwining them into the dark brown jungle to form something completely wonderous.

We took pictures then, silly, funny, sweet, quirky, anything you could think of. That day was a day full of happiness, hopefulness, but that day is but a memory. Gone like a seashell washing from the shore into the blackness of the waves... hope is but a memory.

Back in reality, I continue my walk to class. Slowly I unpack what I could scavenge from previous school years. Even a few pieces of paper in a journal were a lot to find this year. Suddenly, the teacher and I both sweep our eyes to the surface, locking them together. What did she want to say?

"Miranda, where are your supplies from the supply list? Not to be rude but your papers are gone, your pencils are almost to small to manage any more use and your binders aren't even the correct size."

I can only manage a squeaky, "Mom couldn't get them." then force my jell-oey legs to a desk in the back.

I could melt at any moment. I could turn into slush, just like melted snow. I won't. Hiding my mother's awful secret is vital. All I have to hide it with is my clothes, and my own little twisted innocent poker face. Although, the question is....why do I try?