(part one, see previous entry)

Childhood. Being different. Growing used to the hurtful ways of youth that are equaled only by its innocence. She tells herself that was along time ago, but, as she walks down the street, in the faces of children she sees an angel and a devil simultaneously.

Drifting through her concrete world. Streets full of shadows cast by the buildings that rise cold and hard. People who move full of purpose, not looking at the faces of those around them. Content inside their own private lives. God how she envies them.

Hair once blonde is dyed black, making it easier to blend in with the darkness all around. Her smile is a mask she hides behind. Without the sunglasses Jeannie wears, there would be no way to prevent the world from seeing the lie in her eyes. It seems as if everyone else is happy, and she has learnt from experience the importance of not letting her differences show.

Watching lovers walk hand in hand. Living through them. Stealing a moment of happiness as they pass by. They found each other – maybe she has a chance. This feeling is short lived. She has searched for most of her life and found nothing. For a moment there was hope. Bu now, it’s gone.

There is only one way she knows to make it better. That’s why she left the house. Why she didn’t just shut herself away.

She goes where the streets begin to show their age; where the cracked and faded paintwork on the buildings tells the same story of decay as the faces of the people who call this area home. This is a world separate from the rest of the city. The people who live here have come to gather in the same shaft of artificial light that Jeannie seeks, but they have never been able to leave.

Drugs.

The rush, like and anesthetic, to the pain of life. Floating high above it all. The illusion of freedom, even when slavery waits around the corner. Happiness is only fleeting. Too soon it is time to come back down, and it seems such a long way to fall.

Sometimes she almost wishes she never had to return.

To be continued..