Frank was shaken out of his slumber by a tall, irritated looking man in a police uniform. He jumped slightly not remembering how he got on the train until last night’s events came back all at once sending a frown to Frank’s pale face and tears to brim his waterline. “Come on son this is the last stop get up!” The police man said slightly raising his voice out of irritation. Frank sat up rubbing his eyes tiredly and subtly wiping away the tears that were beginning to form. He stood up looking around the empty, run down train, grabbed his beaten up, gray backpack and started trudging to the front of the train to get to the exit. He looked at his worn down, beat up converse as his feet moved forward one after the other, he stared at the hole ripping on the fabric of the shoe where his toes were and felt the instant chill of the outside air as he stepped out of the train. He looked around in awe, instantly forgetting how cold he was, he looked up at the towering buildings that seemed to touch the sky. Everything looked busy and the city looked alive, Frank had never seen anything like this before. He was used to lots of tall trees and small markets and small houses and not a lot of people either. He had never seen so much people in one place before it was all so new to him. “Where am I?” Frank asked, curiosity and amazement filling his sleepy voice as he turned towards the taller police man. “You’re in New York City kid.” He spoke as he turned around and started walking away mumbling something along the lines of “freak” but Frank shrugged it off.
He started walking as the train left the station behind him and he realized he had nowhere to go, he didn’t know where to go, he didn’t know what to do so he sat against a graffiti covered, cement wall and wondered…he wondered if his family was missing him or frantically searching for him, or if they were glad he was gone and moving on with their lives. Surely the would realize he’s gone and move on or be happy. It didn’t seem as though they wanted him, so why would he stay?
He couldn’t go back now, he knew it was too late he had already left and he promised himself he wouldn’t look back, so he zipped open his backpack to see what he had packed. He had packed three faded band t-shirts and a thin, faded Misfits hoodie, A pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Two pairs of worn down, ripped jeans, three dollars, and a pocket knife. He picked up the pocket knife instantly remembering when his father had given it to him. It was on Frank’s 12th birthday and his dad handed him his old pocket knife, he said to always have it with him for protection when he isn’t there to protect him. Frank held the pocket knife close to his chest, sobbing as all of his memories with his parents hit at once. He cried hysterically and threw his head back against the filthy cement wall. He just sat there crying for what seemed like hours of pain but was only a few minutes. He stood up knowing he had to keep moving, rubbed his eyes with his dirty sweater sleeve, put the knife in his back pocket and stood up, he didn’t know what to do and it seemed there was nothing to do with his life so he just threw on his hood and began to explore the city and decided he was just going to let whatever happen, happen. Even though he really just wanted to die.

Notes

sorry this one was so short i wanted to make it longer but my computer started dieing and i lost my charger so i am sorry. I also apologize for the atrocious punctuation and weird transitions.I'm just overall sorry for my existence. Hope you enjoyed i'll try to have another one up sooner and make it longer and better (sorry if that sounded wrong) and i'll try to fix everything ok thanks for reading. Bye.