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This is my story for english. We had a choose a nusery rhyme and write a story about it. Mine was Starlight, Starbright.


People always say that family is what you need the most, but in reality, that is the falsest statement I’ve ever heard. I grew up without a family, at least that’s what I tell myself. My father is a workaholic, my mother, an alcoholic, so they’re both never really home. They used to be here all the time when I was young, telling me things I never forgot. My dad has a fascination with the stars. He knows every constellation and can point each one out with his eyes shut. He used to tell me about the first star to come out at night. It was never the same star, but each first star had magic held in it. The magic only worked for one person though, but you never knew who that star was meant to be for. I wished every night on that first star that my parents would always love me no matter what I did, but when my dad got a new job and my mother found the joys of alcohol, I no longer wished. Wishes don’t come true; magic doesn’t exist. They became the parents that were not my parents when I was nine years old.

“Father,” I said one evening, “I love you.” He didn’t even look up from the papers that were stacked so neatly on his desk. Shooing me goodbye, he mumbled something about not having the time to talk right now. His life is centered on perfection, and that stack of paper proved it. I remember taking a single piece of paper off that stack and setting it on the desk by it. When my dad saw, his face turned all red, and he immediately blamed me. Why shouldn’t he? I am the one who did it, but I lied. I told him I didn’t. I told him it was Mom’s fault. She was in there earlier, but when I saw him yell at her for something I did, I told him the truth. A hand to the cheek defines my punishment for that lie, for all my lies.
He only hits you because he loves you. I’ve heard that thousands of times before, but if that’s what love is then I don’t ever want to be loved! Not by anyone! “Mom,” I’d always reply to this. “Do you ever think he’ll love me more than he does now?” At this point I’d look down at the floor. “Well of course, sweetie!” she’d say cheerfully. “The love Daddy has for you will only grow and grow.” She’d smile real big and pull me closer to her. Tears would stream down from my eyes, streaking my face. She’d always ask what was wrong and why I didn’t want Daddy to love me more, but I could never tell her. What was I supposed to say? I hate Daddy? I don’t want him to love me more? He’ll just hit me harder and longer than he does now? I doubt I could ever say that to my mom, especially not now because hitting has become part of her punishment to me too.

Running away from home is something I cannot and will not regret. I’m going to leave at the stroke of midnight tonight. Quietly sneaking out of my house, I will begin my journey out into the real world, music in hand.
Music is what will keep me going, so I grab my iPod and quickly plug it into my computer. Then I take my CD player and a pack of 48 double-A batteries and shove it into my backpack. Packing my CD’s, toothbrush, toothpaste, pillow, and blanket, I begin to walk over to my closet for a few changes of clothes. I take 4 shirts off of their hangers and grab a pair of shorts and a pair of sweat pants. I shove those into my backpack, and zip it up. My alarm beeps, telling me I only have 10 minutes until midnight. I print out the map I searched for earlier and grab a highlighter off my desk. Shoving both in my pocket, I grab my iPod and backpack and head out of my room. I run down the stairs and grab some crackers and a box of Fruit Loops. Placing both of those into my backpack, the old grandfather clock sings telling me it’s time to go. I flip off the kitchen light quietly and walk out the door. Once outside, I turn on my music and begin my journey to Colorado, where I will meet someone who I probably shouldn’t.

At the age of 12, I realized that I didn’t fit in. I had no friends that knew about my family life; I had no one to really talk to. The laptop I got for Christmas that year changed my life. I began searching everything I possibly could and stumbled along this website. Immediately, I was signed up and accustomed to everything. People actually listened to me, and no one ever called me a loser or any other name. I had the friends that any person would want. Then I grew up and reality settled itself inside me. I was never going to meet these people, and as much as it hurt me to do it, I never talked to them again. However, there were three people I continued to talk to. I just wasn’t ready to let them go because they understood me. Katie was one of those people. Her mom died when she was very young, so I felt as if I could relate to her because my mom never really was a part of my life. I needed Katie in my life to give me advice and just to listen to me when she had no advice to give, and I truly believe she needed me too.

Keeping my eyes on the sky, I walk. The stars are shining so brightly and the moon stands there so boldly; it’s beautiful. I walk until the birds sing their first song of the morning, and I walk until the sun goes up. I walk through the blazing sun, stopping now and then to eat a cracker or tie my sweatshirt around my waist. I walk when the first raindrop falls onto my head. At the same moment that my iPod goes dead, the thunder crackles and rain plummets down onto me.

Thunderstorms, oh thunderstorms, they are what defines beautiful. Not hiding their anger or their tears, they spill out their emotions before us, onto us, so that we can take the pain away. Why do thunderstorms make some happy? I don’t really know, but when the thunder crashes and lightning flashes I just feel as if all my problems simmered down. If one shall not rain, one shall not shine.

I walk until I reach a gas station. Once inside, I go to the bathroom and change my clothes to much dryer ones, and I brush my teeth. Because this is a single bathroom, there is no one in here to look at me strangely or object as I lay myself onto the hard tile, pulling my blanket around me. I try to listen, to hear the rain beat against the rooftop, but between the banging on the door because somebody wants to get in to use the restroom and the beeps of the cash register, I can hear nothing. I pick myself up off the ground and wrap my blanket around my shoulders. Carrying my pillow in one hand and my backpack in the other, I take a step out of the door only to be greeted by an angry mother with a stinky child. Quickly, I walk out of the store and sprint across the street to the park. I climb into a closed slide and pull the blanket closer around me. Almost instantly, I fall asleep.
For the next few weeks, I walk and get rides from strangers. At night, I take the bus because there is no cost. They take me as far as they can and then drop me off on the side of the road to continue my adventure alone.
Finally, after a few weeks, I somehow end up on her doorstep. I stand there, staring at the wooden door trying to get up the courage to knock. What if she isn’t what I expect her to be? What if everything she told me was a lie?
As I lift my hand up, it feels as if it’s a thousand pounds. I knock once, twice, a third time before finally realizing how late it must be. I sit sadly on the step, wishing that this whole thing was over. I just want to crawl into my bed, and actually feel the crisp cool sheets beneath my skin. Just as I’m about to get up, the door opens.
“May I help you?’ says a girl. I stand up fully and slowly turn around. Katie is standing there, looking down at her bare feet. She’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that spell out some random letters. “Look, I’m not in the mood to just stand here. If you need something you better tell me now!” she says sternly. When she finally looks up, she recognizes me.
“Hi,” I whisper and she mouths the word back, but I don’t hear it. She stares at me for the longest time and we just stand there awkwardly. Finally she takes a step back and gestures toward the door.
“Would you like to come in?” she asks. I nod and follow her inside. We pass a middle-aged man sleeping on the couch who I reckon is her father. I follow her up to her room, and she lies on her bed. I go to sit by her.
“Should I not have come?” I ask so quietly, I was sure she didn’t hear. She looks up at me.
“I kind of figured you would.” She smiles, and I smile back. I glance around her room. There’s a towel and a few other bath items sitting on a chair by her door.
“Were you going to take a shower or something?” I ask, keeping my eye on it. Her eyes follow my gaze.
“Oh yeah, I was. Would you like to take one first? No offense, but you kind of smell really bad,” she laughs. I giggle and shrug my bag off my shoulders and set it on the floor.
“I don’t have any clean clothes,” I murmur. She gets up and walks over to her dresser, pulling some items out.
“Here,” she says handing them to me, “there are towels by the sink.” I walk out of her room to go feel the warmth of clean water hit my bruised body.
Once I was finished, Katie went in to take hers. I grab my brush out of my bag and walk over to the mirror by the bookshelf. Brushing, I glance at the titles. There’s a lot of Moby-d**k, Shakespeare, and other classic literature. In between two large books, is a very small one. I take it out and flip open to the first page. In neat penmanship it reads, “Yes I am depressed. I admit that, but I’m not going to kill myself! There is no reason to be sent to a therapist. My father says it will help me cope with the loss of my mother, but nothing will ever make me forget about her!” Almost instantly, I realize this is her diary. I hesitate to put it back but then I flip to the newest entry and read.
“Calista just showed up out of nowhere today. She was on my doorstep, in clothes that were soaked to her body. Cuts covered her face and her arms, and it looks like she didn’t eat for weeks. To tell you that I felt bad for her is an understatement. When she smiled it was without her eyes, and her hands were ice-cold. That’s when I realized that she was homeless; she’s always been homeless. A roof over your head does not make a home a home, but love is what turns a house into home.”
Tears stream down my face, but I quickly wipe them away when I hear the doorknob turn. She quietly walks back into the rooms and crawls into bed.
“I’m tired, are you?” I nod and take my pillow and blanket out of my backpack.
“It smells like the rain,” she whispers, “Can I use it for tonight?” I hand my blanket over to her and lay on the floor. She drops one of her blankets down to me, and I fall asleep, breathing in the scent of lilacs.

I wake up in the middle of the night to realize that Katie isn’t in her bed. I get up from the ground quietly and walk to the window. The moon is shining all by itself tonight, and right under the moon’s light lies Katie, curled up in a ball. I walk down the steps and out the door. She’s crying heavily, and I begin to turn around, to run away from my problems again. Then I notice that my blanket is on top of her. I walk over to her and lie down next to her on the grass. I wrap my arms tightly around her and whisper comforting words in her ear.
After a while, I begin to smell the rain, and I realize the meaning of storms. They are not there to let out their anger, but they’re there for others to realize that somebody knows how they feel. This whole thing was never about my parents but about me trying to find the real meaning in life. In that moment, Katie’s pain transfers to my body, and I welcome it because when she’s happy, the pain in my body escapes too. She stops crying and turns around onto her back. I do the same. A single star sits alone in the night sky. I close my eyes and wish that when I do return home, everything will be different. I reopen my eyes and wish that my wish will come true.