Runaway

A runaway at thirteen.
No job. Farm job. Store job. No job.
Hungry and in pain she sold the only thing she could for thirty cents and regretted not selling herself six months earlier when she could have made a dollar.
The deep hatred she knew for others felt miniscule against the hatred she brewed for herself. Every night, in whatever dark corner she crouched down in, she prayed for an end to everything, and twice came close to doing it herself; only the fear of the ultimate failure prevented her attempting anything.
She longed to forget and be forgotten.