This is something I WROTE. I AM CLAIMING THIS IS MY PIECE OF LITERATURE.
Copyright thing; sorry =D

My name is Auburn. Just like my hair. And at this point, probably my skin. I travel alone. No sibling, parent, or friend. I’ve been alone most of my life. Sometimes I like it, to be alone, when it’s quiet and peaceful. Sometimes I feel too confined, alienated from the world. But I don’t like cities. And once I start to feel solitary, and try to make a trek into the city, the honking and yelling always drives me back. I can take care of myself. The only thing that travels with me are the clothes on my back, and my guitar. It helps me connect with who I am, and I don’t feel so different. But then I realize I am. And sometimes I realize that I miss being normal.

I am only 15, but I have been through too much. I lost my family when I was 10. They died in a car accident. But I try not to look too far back into the past. Whenever I come across someone, maybe hikers or a couple strolling through a park, I bite my lip when they ask who I am. I know what happens to orphans. They get shipped around until they find a “perfect family.” Well, I don’t want a new family. I just wish I had my old one. I live in Montana, where the hills are endless, and I could hide forever. I don’t know if I can keep this up though. Moving from place to place, lucky to get something to eat. The police were getting smarter; setting up LOST KID signs, and broadcasting my description, TEEN GIRL: AGE 15; REDDISH-BROWN HAIR; BLUE JEANS; TURQUOISE SHIRT; NO SHOES; AND LAST SEEN CARRYING A GUITAR. I could easily change my description; steal clothes from someone’s laundry line; “borrow” hair dye from a hair salon; leave my guitar by the side of the road, or through it in the river to rot, But I didn’t want to. All these things were part of me, part of who I was, at least in my previous life. And the memories were starting to slip away after five solitary years.

I should’ve never done this, I thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Turning myself in, I thought bitterly. No, no, no, I should’ve ran when I was halfway into the city. I should run right now- “Okay sweetie, sit down right here.” The therapist broke my thoughts, her voice oozing with fake concern. I gave her a scowl and sat down. “Now tell me why you did this Auburn? Why did you stay in the woods all these years? The police were here waiting for you.” I didn’t answer. Instead I looked at the ceiling with my lips tightly pressed together. When I could stand it no longer, I sat up and broke. “I, I, I….” my strong mask finally broke, tears spilling out, knees pressed to my chest, the therapist hugging me tightly and telling me it was okay. It was a short outburst, because I was on my feet in a minute. I am not made for the city. I should stay where I belong. In the woods. Free as a bird.