Franks POV:
i shuddered in the cold, the bitter wind slapping me like sand paper through the holes of my jacket. I've been on the streets for two years. No money, no home, no friends, no nothing. Im alone. My shoes are worn through, my jacket basically a few strings held together by sheer will. My shirt? i dont even have one. and my jeans are barely enough to maintain my modesty. My skin is a mess of scars, from the abuse i had to deal with since i was real young... about 3 i believe. Not to mention when i was twelve the doctors believed the bruises and scars were from school fights, and had ignored them as he did thests and eventually diagnossed me as a clepto... cleptomaniace... clepto mainag... no a cleptomaniac i think... i can't remember much. On one side of me, i want to be vain and love the way i look... and be a normal 15 year old boy. but i cant. im stuck seeing the things i hate everytime i look into a puddle or a window. This mirror isnt big enough for the both of me... god i sound cliche.

Notes

I KNOW THIS IS TERRIBLY SHORT and im sorry. I will post a longer one tomarrow.