“The Whipping Girl”
Part: 3
By: Metallica_Worshipper
e-mail: metallica_lover_adorer@hotmail.com

Note: Hey, everyone! . . .It’s been awhile since I’ve been here last, I know . . 
. Not that it makes much a difference, but I’ve been really busy these past few 
months with things I really ought to not have to worry about. But oh, well. 
Here’s the third installment of my story, “The Whipping Girl” (whoop-de-doo) -- 
I sure hope that you enjoy it, and I appreciate every single person that stops 
by to read it -- albeit one word, or the whole thing. Thanks, ya’ll--it really 
means a lot to me. :)

-----
By the time we had gotten half-way to the Poke'mon Center, I couldn't help 
but notice that the overcast sky had darkened quite reasonably since Justin 
and I had started off. 
The sense that something heavy was overhead and confined within the clouds 

was also much stronger than it was when I had jumped out of my bedroom 
window not but an hour ago. It was pretty clear to me that the clouds would 
soon choose to release whatever they were holding in their voluminous gray 
chambers in the sky. 
But in what form it would come in, I wasn't sure. It looked like rain, but with 
these temperatures, it could very well turn into snow . . .This was an extremely 
unusual event here in my part of the world even when we were deep within the 
bitter heart of winter . . . but even more unusual in the first few weeks of 
autumn. But I guess unusual was pretty normal for this situation wasn’t it? 
However, that didn't stop me from fervently hoping that the weather wouldn't 
interfere with my Poke'mon training . . . although, knowing my luck, it most 
certainly would. 
I couldn't let that get in front of my unusually high mood! I mean, I had a 
right 
to be excited about something without anything interfering with it for once, 
after all, didn't I? And plus, who wouldn't be excited about becoming a 
Poke'mon trainer? 
“So, what Poke'mon do you think you're going to get?” Justin asked suddenly 
from my right, his voice rousing me out of my dreamland of excitement. These 
were the first 
words we had spoken to each other since we had gotten up and headed out 
towards the Center.
I smiled, new waves of excitement and delight coursing throughout my body, "I 
don't really know . . ." I replied after a moment of pondering, “But I've 
thought about it really hard for a really long time . . . and I think I'd choose 
an Eevee if I could.” I then thought a moment more, “Or maybe a Vulpix. Or a 
Marill . . . or a Pikachu.”
“Ah, beginner Poke'mon,” Justin said in feigned disgust and a wave of a hand, 
“I'd get an Eevee and start working hard to turn it into an Umbreon right 
away . . . although I understand you trainer types have a different way of 
going towards things like evolution.”
“Well, yeah . . .” I replied, then I straightened my back and put on a wise, 
informed look, mixing in a big smile and sparkling eyes, “Poke'mon are our 
friends, mind--not tools of war or destruction. So treat them nicely, and train 
hard, but softly!” I said in my best Nurse Joy imitation.
“See, and you already know everything a Poke'mon trainer is supposed to learn 
on their journey,” Justin commented with a laugh, “Jeez, when you finally get 
your Poke'mon, it won't be too exciting because you've been really studying up 
on them, and there won't be that much to learn once you get started--aren't 
you worried about that?”
“Oh, I'm plenty excited!” I said in my normal voice, with an energetic hop, “And 
believe me--there's a very, very large difference between just learning about 
something from books than by actually going out and doing it. You just learn 
more when you experience something first-hand.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, “The famous astronaut and astronomer theory.”
“You bet.” I replied. “Only I'm tired of being the astronomer . . . I understand 
it comes 
in handy, but I want to get out there and actually do stuff. Thirteen years of 
dreaming isn't very productive unless you really know what you're up against, 
anyway . . .”
“That's why I'm happy for you,” Justin replied as he patted me on the back, 
“You managed to squeeze out from under your father's thumb for the promise 
of an actual experience, and now you're doing what you've always dreamed of 
doing--or getting ready to, at least.”
“Yeah . . .” I replied, suddenly feeling that horrible creeping sense of sadness 
crawl into my heart. Justin was right--I was finally doing what I wanted to do 
in life . . . but at his expense.
It felt wrong to even think about leaving him to do something for myself . . . 
even if it was something I really wanted to do. I mean, he befriended me--an 
ugly, broken creature--in my time of need, and he listened to what I wanted to 
say, when there was no one to say it to . . . and he would never dream of 
hurting 
me in any way. He accepted me--when I was with him, I felt almost human. 
Almost . . . but even that which is just out of our reach is still something to 
savor. And it was for those reasons that I loved him, and sort of began to 
associate him as the authoritative figure in my life . . . a place normally 
reserved for fathers.
I understood it was probably wrong to be so fixated on a friend . . . but how 
else could I react when he was the first true one I had ever had? And--you 
have to admit it--he was the only true man I knew. My father may have been 
adult, and he may have driven a truck, and drank alcohol, but he wasn't a man. 
He wasn't a man at all. He was just a corrupt dictator. A tyrant who thought I 
had to do everything he said—no questions asked—just because I was his 
daughter. 
Justin, on the other hand, was much more of a man than my father could ever 
hope to be. 
Oh, yes, this was the truth, and I needed no one to prove it to me. Whenever a 
situation went awry, Justin was calm and rational, but my father would bounce 
off the walls, shouting obscenities, throwing things, hitting things . . . me, 
mainly . . .
I learned that I should always expect punishment from that, and it was a lesson 
learned well.
Whenever something bad happened, Justin took responsibility, but Dad blamed 
it on me always. 
Thus the lesson taught was that everything was my fault.
And finally, and probably most importantly, Justin didn’t ever have the need 
to prove things by fighting, or hitting. If my Dad ever wanted to prove me 
wrong—and if I had ever actually gathered enough courage to actually say he 
was wrong—he would hit me, or beat the crap out of me from where I stood. In 
his household, he was always right, because he was the adult. He was the man, 
and compared to any man, a girl really doesn’t know that much.
Another lesson learned. 
I mean, after all . . . this whippin’ girl’s done wrong . . . hasn’t she? This 
whipping girl always did wrong. But perhaps she did wrong by reasons other 
than she believed . . . not from actually doing the deed, but for taking the 
blame. For being the world’s scapegoat. She was guilty for us all.
Oh, well. Back to the point.
So naturally, because Justin was such a beloved friend to me, several times 
now did the thought of just passing up the opportunity of becoming a Poke'mon 
trainer cross my mind . . . but the only thing that kept me coming back was the 
fact that it was what Justin wanted for me. And I would never, ever dream of 
disappointing him.
I mean, after all . . . father knows best, doesn't he?
“I don’t want to leave you . . . and be alone again.” I found myself saying in a 
small, dazed voice, unlike my own. I then suddenly remembered a snatch that 
had been buried beneath the sands of time worth six years in the past . . . a 
patchy memory where I had been standing outside the hospital ward from 
which my mother had been trapped within. 
I had been seven years old then, back when my mother had been slowly lost 
within the foggy delusions of her own disease . . . I never really knew exactly 
what had happened. 
But did I really want to learn? Whatever it was, it was something beyond my 
understanding. And I wanted it to stay that way. I didn’t want to know more 
than I already had an inkling of . . . for even having the slightest assumption 
that your mother suddenly got sick and died one day isn’t very pretty. And it’s 
even less pretty when you realize that things just might’ve been different if 
her health had withstood itself . . . even for just a little while longer.
But that was dwelling in those horrible, old ‘what if’s. And those were horrible 
things to dwell in, especially when there was a different path you could take, 
or a different decision you could make . . .
I better leave well enough alone, now. I shouldn't be stirring up old ghosts, 
anyway. They’re set there to settle, after all . . . like dust on an old and 
long 
forgotten box in the attic . . . one that held strange and time-forsaken bits 
and 
pieces that stood as proof that the past truly had existed . . . once upon a 
time.
“Well . . .” the sound of Justin's voice brought me back to the present in a 
quick rush. I looked up at him and I was not too surprised to see that he was 
looking at me with concern. “You okay?”
“. . . um . . . yeah . . .” I replied distantly, and then I was suddenly 
overcome 
with the urge to cough, which gave way to a coughing fit, almost as though the 
lie I had just produced had gotten wedged up inside my throat as a punishment. 
The whipping girl shall face the consequence. 
Justin patted me on the back gently, “You sure?” he asked as soon as my fit 
had calmed down. A torrent of coldness suddenly swept down the street 
towards us. I felt a force push me backwards as the cold northerner blew 
against the south with all it’s fury and freezing madness. I grimaced and held 
my head low, trying to mask my already freezing face from the wind, but my 
attempt was futile, for the wind still managed to sneak up and hit me full-
fledged in the face, enveloping me in a coldness even darker and danker than 
that which I felt within my heart.
“No, I’m not sure!” I found myself saying in weary anger as I absently swatted 
at the open, cold air in front of me. I was tired of it, but I wasn’t able to do 
anything about it. Cold was cold . . . and a thin jacket was a thin jacket.
“Christ, Chelsea, if you’re so cold, why did you run away from home and only 
bring that one coat with you?” Justin asked exasperatedly as we continued 
walking on while the wind gust died down.
I frowned at his tone, “Because it’s the only coat I’ve had for the past two 
years, and you know it,” I replied sharply. I didn’t mean to sound so rude . . . 
but I was a little surprised at the way he had spoken to me, and I was also 
still 
upset by the cold. I crossed my arms across my chest and rubbed my forearms 
for warmth, with little—if any—results.
Justin raised his hands up and looked at me, surprised, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t 
mean anything by it.”
I looked at him sadly, the iciness and upset running right out of me, “I know 
you didn’t.” I replied in a weary tone, “I’m sorry. It’s just I wish I had 
another 
coat, too. I mean, two wrongs don’t make a right, but two crappy coats do make 
a little bit more warmth than one.”
“Well, here,” Justin said suddenly, “You can have mine.”
I looked at him, surprised that he’d even consider taking off the one thing 
separating him from comfort and the infinite coldness that I was feeling. 
Although . . . perhaps just the plain coldness of the air was actually tolerable 
when it was alone . . . it could’ve been worse for me because my physical 
coldness was being 
backed-up by inner coldness—the sarcasm of the very heart that keeps me 
living. The one I had several times fervently wished would cease to beat.
“Oh, no, Justin,” I said with a small smile, despite my discomfort, “I couldn’t 
do 
that. Keep your jacket—I mean, I’m used to the cold. It’s really not so bad 
anyway . . . I mean, I’m just nervous.”
Justin looked at me, unbelieving, “Yeah, right,” he replied with obvious 
disbelief, “If you were used to this temperature, you wouldn’t be shivering 
your butt off right where you stand.” He then proceeded to take off his dark 
blue jacket. He handed it to me. 
I stood my ground and refused it, “No, Justin,” I protested almost pleadingly, 
“You would freeze, and it’s your jacket, and I can take care of myself . . . 
okay?”
“Nope,” he replied plainly with a shake of his head, “Not gonna cut it. Just 
take 
it, would you? It’s not going to kill you, or anything. And you’d be more 
comfortable . . .”
“If your parents saw us . . .” I suddenly brought up, hoping to change his mind, 
“then you’d be in so much trouble. They think I’ve got cooties, Justin—and if 
they saw me wearing your jacket, they’d go mad.”
Justin surprised me by snickering, “Do you really think I care?” he said, 
sounding almost surprised, “If I cared about how they felt about you, I 
wouldn’t be anywhere near you, to begin with.” Then he shoved his jacket into 

my arms, “There. If they’re going to see you, best let them see you with it on. 
That’s how I’d want it. So go on—I’d really hate to see you freeze. Keep it, 
even—let it be my legacy to you.”
I looked up at him, surprised by what he was saying, and being touched at the 
same time. And I knew by looking into his eyes that this was one way I had 
changed him over the past few years. I had caused him to be a little bit less 
centered on what his parent’s wanted for him, as opposed to what he wanted 
for himself. 
. . . I wasn’t quite sure his parents believed it to be a good habit developed 
from being around me . . . but I could easily admit that I liked it.
I smiled up at him, “How sweet of you.”
“Not as sweet as you, kiddo,” he said with a grin, and then he rolled his eyes 
and looked away, “. . . Now that was pretty corny.”
I laughed as I set my backpack down on the freezing concrete sidewalk and 
began to slip his jacket on over my coat. It fit nicely, although it was about 
two or three sizes too big for me. But I still liked it . . . it reminded me of 
him. 
And it was really warm, due to being on him for the past long while. 
“You like?” he asked with a smile. “You better . . . I don’t have anything else 
that’s warmer.”
“I like it a lot,” I replied, “Thank you, Justin . . . but if you start to 
freeze, 
I’m giving it back to you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving the situation off. “Now let’s go, love,” 
he 
said as he picked my backpack off the ground and handed it to me, “The time 
draws near . . . that the Poke’mon Center will freakin’ close and you won’t get 
a 
Poke’mon, and you’ll be screwed.” He held up his wrist, revealing his watch so I 
could read it. It distinctively read four-oh-five.
I grinned happily up at the sky, ignoring the fact that it obviously did not 
return my infinite happiness, for it was as gray and unfeeling as the dead. It 
didn’t really matter. It looked just as beautiful to me.
“Ah, we’ve got two hours to get there . . .” I said as we began walking again, 
the 
coldness seemingly left behind and confined within lost shadows, “I mean, I’m 
not the one to procrastinate, but . . . what could possibly happen in two 
hours?”


I guess I should’ve known something like this would happen. I mean . . . why 
wouldn’t it? Why wouldn’t he have reported what I’d done to the local police 
agency? Had I actually believed that the authorities wouldn’t be involved in 
the situation? 
How dense was I?
Why couldn’t he just let me go? He didn’t need me. I was just a waste of money, 
to begin with . . . he wouldn’t have given a damn about me running away . . . if 
not for the fact that I was the one who did everything around the house. But, 
so what! Couldn’t he learn to do that himself?
Yeah, but why waste the time and energy . . .when you could have your 
“daughter” do it for you?
. . . So, I should’ve known he wouldn’t let me go without a last difficult 
obstacle 
to deal with.
And that obstacle was none other than Officer Jenny.
And I knew right when I heard the sound of a car approaching and saw the red 
and blue lights of a police cruiser poke up over the hill up street that I was 
in 
trouble. Deep trouble.
This no longer concerned just me and my dad anymore—it now concerned the 
law, and that wasn’t very attractive to me at this point. I just wanted to get 
out and go quickly and quietly as near possible.
“Uh-oh . . .” Justin muttered as the car began to slow down, coming in our 
direction. I could see Officer Jenny inside of it behind the wheel, and she was 
looking straight back at me with a serious expression.
“Oh, crap . . .” I said fearfully, knowing exactly why Officer Jenny was 
stopping by us, but not being able to believe it, “Justin, you don’t think—“
“I do,” he said quickly and softly, causing the horrible feeling of panic to bud 
in the pit of my stomach, “But don’t worry about it—I’ll help you outta this. 
Officer Jenny is very reasonable . . . I’m sure if we just talk to her, she’ll 
let 
you go.”
I frantically grabbed at his arm, “I can’t go back,” I said firmly and 
desperately as I watched the cruiser stop at my left on the curb. I was trying 
to stay calm by not looking straight at it, but that was getting harder and 
harder by the minute as the cruiser approached, filling the air with the smell 
of gasoline, “Justin, I can’t—he’ll kill me!” I whispered, suddenly terrified 
beyond reason.
Justin grabbed my hand calmly and lowered it down, “Just stay calm, okay?” he 
whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I won’t let her take you back there.”
I replied with an absent whimper, hoping with all my might that Justin could 
save me from this situation, because I couldn’t go back. I absolutely could not.
But why would the police listen to me? Why would they listen to Justin? Just 
because we said something? No. I knew the authorities pretty well by now. I 
was a grade-A scapegoat, seeing as how I always took the blame. And I knew 
that authorities—police, teachers, adults—pretty much believe children are 
objects. They think we can’t think for ourselves, and that we’re bound to make 
impulsive decisions. Like stealing, or hurting, or other things. That we do 
crazy 
things without reason, and that their judgment is always right.
But I could understand that. Those ignorant children before us have pretty 
much branded us all as wild and stupid. And impulsive, above all. Thus those 
few mature ones these days rarely had their own voice. But I was used to 
oppression by now.
About two yards to my left on the curb, Officer Jenny began to roll down her 
window. She motioned us over to the cruiser with her index finger. 
I gulped nervously as Justin and I began to walk to the curb where the police 
cruiser sat idling. As I walked, I ran things I could say through my head. 
Ultimately, I thought I was doomed right now. I was doomed and embarrassed. 
Embarrassed for ever thinking a plan of mine could actually go right . . . 
embarrassed for being so bold as to try it . . . and embarrassed because 
Officer Jenny would have to sit through another one of my outrageous lies. 
Lies on my father’s part.
And, while I was walking, the strangest thing happened to me all of a sudden. 
I had the urge to bolt. To run off without even looking back and just go on 
with my business. I felt as though I was prepared to try to outrun a police car. 
I felt as though for once I could defy authority-- rebel against the system. I 
also felt emotionally prepared. I felt powerful -- I was the oppressor, I was 
in control. 
At that moment, I knew I had been struck with the lowest, most crude sense of 
the human instinct--the instinct to defend one’s self. And I would defend 
myself for once. Because in this case, it was, put simply, freedom or bust. She 
wasn’t going to take me back--no way. 
She’s not taking me -- no way -- I’ve gone too far; I deserve to have this work 
out for me -- just this once, I thought firmly and confidently, even though what 
was expressed on my face was the exact opposite 

Now Justin and I stood approximately three feet from Officer Jenny’s car. I 
watched nervously as she killed the engine and stepped slowly out of the car, 
keeping her eyes on me most of the time. All of it seemed to happen in slow 
motion -- the movements for her hands, the wind, the fluttering of the birds 
overhead, even the clouds.
While she turned around to shut the car door, I snuck a quick nervous glance 
at Justin, who was pretending to be calm with ease. I suddenly envied his 
ability to mask emotions, because I’m sure it was quite obvious I was nervous 
and edgy about something. I immediately tried my hardest to look calm.
Then, Officer Jenny turned around and leaned with her back against the side 
of the car, looking from me to Justin with grave brown eyes as the cold autumn 
wind blew her hair about slowly. Suddenly, to my surprise, she appeared to me 
as the epitome of an unfeeling law -- a twisted Lady Liberty that was unfair. 
I knew that she knew of what had happened -- and because I was a child, I’d 
have no say when she made it clear she was going to carry out her orders and 
take me back home, broken dreams and all. One slam of a hammer was all it 
took, and I’d be overpowered. 
I shuddered and clench my hands into tight fists at my sides. I dug my 
fingernails as tightly as I could into the sweaty flesh of the palms of my 
hands, 
urging myself to think of other things and to stay calm. Sort of my way of 
realizing what’s important. 
“You’re Chelsea Davis,” she said, looking straight at me, “aren’t you?”
My throat closed abruptly, but I managed to overcome it and answer, “Yes,” I 
said slowly as well as unsurely, “I’m her.” 
“Is there a problem, Officer?” Justin asked quickly in a practical tone as he 
stuffed his hands in his pockets. I knew that usually whenever he did that, it 
meant he was nervous about something. At least I wasn’t the only one. I was 
glad he was helping me out . . . but I knew Officer Jenny would become 
suspicious of Justin’s interlude. And thus I might be without an alibi. But I 
was 
used to lack an alibi, anyway. 
She looked at Justin for a moment, studying him with a sudden pleased look, 
“And you must be Justin Dearborn,” she said matter-of-factly as she turned to 
me, staring me in the eyes, “The boyfriend, I presume?” 
As she looked into my eyes, I saw that she really thought this was the truth. I 
quickly raised my eyebrows in disbelief at how sure she sounded of herself, 
“Actually--“
“No,” Justin said with slight embarrassment, “I’m just her neighbor.”  
“Oh,” Officer Jenny said distantly, as she looked on down the street. “I see.”
Then there was an awkward moment of silence as Officer Jenny looked at the 
sky. It was obvious to me that she was contemplating something seriously in her 
mind --definitely about Justin and I. At that moment, I was confident my 
father had said something about Justin that misled Officer Jenny to believe 
we were a couple. I instantly knew what, too, but I most certainly didn’t want 
to keep that thought in my head. I couldn’t help but feel deeply frustrated 
with everything at the moment. 
Jeez, this was a mess. But I’d best keep up my innocent act . . . even though I 
supposed that the crime I had committed as opposed to the one my father made 
up, I truly was innocent.

But it’s best to not let them know your excuses are stumbling.
“Officer Jenny,” I said as calmly as I could, “is there a problem with 
something?”
She looked at me for a moment, and I thought the expression on her face was 
sorrow. I was surprised. I knew Officer Jenny was a person, and could 
naturally feel compassion, but so far as our conversation had gone, she had no 
proof that there was anything to feel sorry about. I instantly assumed it was 
because she felt sorry for me. This caused me to feel anger burning up in my 
mind. I always hated it when people I didn’t really know felt sorry for me -- I 
mean, mind your own business! I could take care of myself -- I mean, I’ve been 
doing it for thirteen years, for Christ’s Sake.
“Actually, there is,” Officer Jenny replied wearily. “I received a report that 
you had . . . well, run away with . . . a friend,” she finished uneasily, 
obviously 
sensing something amiss. I looked up at Justin and saw he was regarding 
Officer Jenny quite seriously. 
“No,” I replied suddenly as I put up my wall of defense and tried to sound as 
realistic as I could, “Who would’ve reported such a thing?” I tried to look 
surprised, and dumbfounded. Maybe it didn’t come out right, or maybe it was 
something else, but Officer Jenny was regarding me disbelievingly.
“Well, I got the report from your father,” she said flatly as she crossed her 
arms as my feelings of hopefulness that I could make Officer Jenny forget the 
report suddenly went into a death-spiral. “And frankly,” she went on, “I don’t 
believe you would do something like that . . . but duty is duty, nonetheless . . 
.” 
she said listlessly, “I was told to find you and bring you back home.”
I was suddenly overcome with a flash of genuine anger and fear, “That’s . . . 
that’s crazy!” I exclaimed, upset and unable to keep silent at my outrage. 
“Whatever he said, it was a downright lie -- I mean, he was drunk, and--and I’m 
just leaving to become a Poke’mon trainer, and he’s probably forgotten by 
now.” I was nodding profoundly, trying to convince Officer Jenny that what I 
was saying was the truth . . . which it indeed wasn’t, “Yeah . . . it’s just a 
misunderstanding, that’s all. I’m sure--”
“Look,” Officer Jenny said sadly and firmly, “I know you planned to run away 
to become a Poke’mon trainer . . .” she said as she reached out and put a 
caring, 
concerned hand on my tense shoulder, “and that’s a clever idea, in a sense . . . 
but, legally, it’s just not possible. And I’m sorry I’ve gotten in your way, Ms. 
Davis, but the fact is, I’ve got orders to take you home, and I have to.”
I looked into her eyes desperately hoping and praying that something would 
suddenly happen to end this conversation. She continued to gaze sadly back 
into my eyes, and I knew she was trying to comfort me, but condolences 
wouldn’t be taken here.
I quickly turned around and broke her gaze as I put a hand over my eyes, no 
longer caring about trying to prevent Officer Jenny from knowing by my body 
language that I was very much in a tizzy. I shook my head, feeling nothing but 
helplessness and fear.
“She’s not going.” Justin said suddenly in an angry tone, causing me to suddenly 
look up at him, “Her dad doesn’t care about her. She’s had to live in the place 
for too long already -- God only knows what she takes there. She can’t go 
back.” He repeated firmly, “She just can’t. You’re supposed to protect people, 
and although you police don’t seem to do a very good job of it anymore,” then 
he motioned towards me with a firm hand, “at least try to protect her.”
Officer Jenny held her hands up, “Okay, okay, calm down,” she said coolly, 
“Mr. Dearborn, I understand your concern, but I suggest you let her family’s 
affairs remain in her family.” Then she looked towards me, “Now as for you--“
“Someone’s gotta look out for her.” Justin said firmly. “It’s pretty clear she 
doesn’t have anyone else to do that for her, anyway.”
Officer Jenny watched him closely for a moment, then turned to me, seemingly 
ignoring what he had said. I unwillingly turned to face her, and she bent down 
slightly so our eyes were level. She placed her white gloved hands on my 
shoulders, and I flinched suddenly because I wasn’t expecting it. I suppose she 
sensed that, too, because she loosened her grip on me. Her hazel eyes continued 
to stare deeply into my cadet blue ones. 
I didn’t like her staring in my eyes. I didn’t like her so close to my face, 
either, but I couldn’t do anything. I just looked quickly to the concrete 
sidewalk at my left, unwilling to have eye-to-eye contact. 
Eyes were like windows into a person’s soul. In some people it isn’t always so 
easy to look into their eyes and know something about them, but there’s others 
that are quite different, and hold their selves right out in the color of their 
eyes. I was scared I was one of them, so I never made eye contact except from 
long distances. I mean, I learned that least the floor didn’t care about what 
pain you felt. 
“Now, as for you,” she said softly as she continued to look straight at me, “we 
can sort this out.” She suddenly raised a hand and softly held my chin as she 
turned my head to face her again. I kept my unwilling gaze as best as I could. 
She sighed, “We can see if we can’t have you possibly taken into another home. 
Or maybe get your family counseling. These things can work out--“
“Not for this family,” I said strongly, unlike myself. I suddenly found the 
strength in me to pull back from her. I was suddenly overcome with anger 
towards the guy in the sky that kept causing all my plans to not work out. But 
I wasn’t taking it anymore. For once, things were gonna go my way. 
It was damn near long enough overdue, anyway.
I felt relief as Officer Jenny’s hands left me. She stood up and watched me 
closely with sad concern, which only annoyed me more. I hated it when people 
looked at me like that.
She looked as though she were about to say something, but I cut her off 
because I was already far beyond upset, “I’m not going back--you can’t take 
me.”
“It’s in your best interest,” Officer Jenny protested desperately, her brown 
eyes meaning every word of it. “I swear, we can fix this-“
“I don’t want it fixed!” I shouted suddenly as I stamped my foot against the 
sidewalk angrily. I felt my eyes watering, and I sensed Justin staring at me as 
the cold wind continued to blow consistently. 
“It doesn’t need to be fixed! I can fix it well enough by not going back!” I 
continued shouting despairingly as my hair flew along with the cold wind that 
froze the tears that were steadily growing in my eyes. I saw the thick, dark 
gray storm clouds moving in the wind’s current . . . I also saw a flock of 
Pidgey 
looking down at me as though I were eccentric. I suppose I was, “Why can’t 
you just let me go?
“I’m tired . . .” I continued desperately after a short pause, “I’m tired of all 
I 
have to go through at home . . . in town . . . in life . . .” my voice trailed 
off 
suddenly, “All I want is to be on my own now! Is that too much to ask?” my 
angry glare then soften as I realized Officer Jenny’s obvious ignorance 
towards what I was saying, “But you can’t possibly understand what I’m saying 
right now . . .” I said listlessly as I looked down the street, and then at 
Justin. 
My heart skipped a beat as I looked into his deep brown eyes. I understood he 
was understanding everything I was saying. I knew that he knew this was my 
moment of liberation. It was now settled -- I will be free. 
I looked up confidently at Officer Jenny . . . and a strange smile spread 
across my face, “So understand this, Officer: I . . . will not . . . go . . . 
back.”
Suddenly the world turned cold. I realized that despite the fact that I was 
wearing Justin’s jacket, I was freezing. But the source of the chill wasn’t from 
the wind, or the air. It was from Officer Jenny’s eyes. 
Her cold brown eyes met with mine. I knew that she was going to resort to 
force now, because I was defying her, and she damn well knew it. However, a 
small voice in the back of my mind whispered thoughts of regret regarding how 
I had handled my actions. I knew Officer Jenny was only trying to be helpful 
-- she was trying to make me see the best in things, and trying to make me feel 
better. But her words meant nothing to me. I was simply not going back, and 
she should understand how adamant I felt. I still couldn’t believe she was 
trying to convince me to come back home. I had tried to get it across to her 
that I wasn’t coming, so now, the only thing I could do was run.
Yes, run away.
REALLY run away.
But only if she tried to force me into the back of that cruiser. Only then 
would I have nothing to lose. So I stood there with my brows lowered in a 
serious frown as I crossed my arms, regarding Officer Jenny and waiting to 
see what she was going to do next.
“You don’t understand how it is to live on your own,” she said softly and 
slowly, 
as though she were trying to convince me out of a suicide, “especially when 
you’re only thirteen.”
“I’ll learn, then,” I replied softly and firmly as I gazed into her eyes, trying 
to 
read her thoughts before she did something to surprise me, “because anything’s 
better than this.”
“No.” Officer Jenny said firmly, “Living as a Poke’mon trainer with support 
from your family is easy . . . but without the support, you are your own person. 
You might as well be an adult.” She took a step towards me, and instinctively, I 
took a step back, “You’ll have to find a job for money . . . and food . . . and 
shelter. It’s not the life you’re meant to have, Chelsea. You’re a very 
promising 
person, and if you would just listen to me--“
“I’m through listening,” I said, feeling a sharp pang of sadness, “I’ve already 
thought about all of this. And I know I can do it. I know I can -- it’s my 
dream, my destiny.”
Officer Jenny took another step towards me. I responded with three steps 
backwards. The wind continued to blow against my back, causing my hair to fly 
around. In that moment was the only moment I ever admired any form of my 
stance. I knew that right now I was the complete epitome of defiance, and 
there wasn’t a thing anyone could do.
“Please listen to me,” she said, desperate for my attention. I wouldn’t hear any 
of it. I shook my head, and I looked at Justin suddenly, with a small smile. I 
suppose something either in my smile or my words hinted to Justin of what I 
was about to do.
His response was the same little smile -- a smile that clearly said he wished me 
the best of luck, accompanied with a nod. I returned his smile, loving him now 
more than I had ever loved anyone in the world. I was missing him already . . . 
but now was my time to be a free bird.
Officer Jenny’s mouth dropped open a second before I sprang into action, and 
her stupefied pause was her undoing, for as soon as she took her first running 
steps towards me to prevent my sprint, I was already over two yards away, 
and quickly gaining speed. 
I was running now, running against the cold torrents of autumn wind as it lifted 
my hair up in stringy waves, along with the jacket I had neglected to button. 
The only thing I could feel was the cold, and the weight of my backpack 
swinging around on my back as I ran.
How could I feel anything else? I was running from a dark, horrible life into 
one that was much more promising. For once, it was the moon -- not the light 
that lights the dead-end street.
Behind me, I heard the clap-clap-clap of Officer Jenny’s heels meeting the 
concrete of the sidewalk as she helplessly ran after me. I heard her shouting, 
and I also heard Justin join her, although they weren’t saying the same thing.
“Run, Chelsea, RUN!”, I heard Justin shouting in a wonderful mixture of 
happiness and laughter, “And until we meet again, good luck, and I’ll always 
keep you in my heart!”
I felt a strong, sudden love for him in my heart as tears of happiness began to 
form in my eyes, “I won’t forget you, Justin!” I said suddenly, my voice cutting 
through the cold, clear and happy. “Thank you so much! I love you!” I said with 
a strong, audible sob. I quickly added, “Good-bye! . . .”
“Wait! Waaait!” I heard Officer Jenny yelling desperately. I quickly looked 
back and I saw she was far down the street from me, running as fast as her 
shoes would let her. 
By now, a considerable amount of people were looking out their doors and 
windows to see what the shouting was about. I couldn’t blame them. I instantly 
sensed their eyes on my back, staring in wonder.
For once in my life, I didn’t really care. Let ‘em watch -- I was having a taste 
of freedom and likin’ it.
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Officer Jenny continued to shout. I sensed 
she had stopped running by now, “You’re throwing your . . .” her voice trailed 
off as I turned the corner, almost slipping and twisting my ankle. But it 
wouldn’t have mattered -- I would’ve continued trying to crawl away from 
Officer Jenny -- hell, probably from a whole army. 
And as I ran through the maze of town streets absently, just wanting to run 
and feel the cold rushes of freedom, I knew I would never hear her voice 
again.

-----

Author’s Note: Oh, well. Ya’ll probably think it’s not much, and I can’t 
disagree -- more often than not people dislike what I write, but thanks for 
reading any part of it anyway, even if you hated it and want to kill me. :P
I hope you’ll stay around for . . . (insert DUN-dun-dun! sting here) Part 4? 
Bwahaha! Mwahaha! Lol--ahem, anyway . . . I hope you will -- hopefully, if you 
don’t like what I’ve written, or don’t think it’s exciting, it’ll get better for 
you up ahead. I just need your dedication, that’s all. :P
Thanks for your time!