In a town called Rown, nestled in a decomposing chair, amongst a heap of trash, a girl named Hannah watched the world go by. Behind her like a cancerous lump sat the Dixie, a rotted motel. The white paint that covered its bricks were chipped and slightly singed at the edges from a bomb fire that occurred half a century ago, the vacancy sign, was fragmented, and hung from one hinge precariously. She and her mother lived in room 206 on the second floor, the furthest room from the main office. The proprietor didn’t want to hear the strange noises Hannah's washed up ex-gypsy mother made late in to the night.

It wasn't the first seedy motel they had resided in and she doubted it would be the last. Alone the Dixie appeared to be a shit hole but amongst the other structures of the charred decomposed town it blended in easily with the austere scenery. Down the road the other buildings looked no better, a few blocks west sat a timeworn shoe factory, long forsaken and crumbling to the ground, others were only rust enclosed skeletons of the old world that no one ever thought to repair or clean up.

While she sat in the company of discarded cups, furniture, and dirt caked clothing, Hannah watched with vaguely too large eyes that held too much intensity and interest as people passed by the ancient sickly buildings and worn-out yellow-brown sky. Seemingly no one noticed the rapt youngster with a wild nest of curls whipping about her pallid, sad face, her tiny scar etched arms and legs sticking out awkwardly from her thrift store, six sizes too large clothing, that watched them all pass by. They all tried not to see her skinny limbs, how her eyes held a great amount of desperation or how hard she shivered when a breeze blew past.

Though those people didn't matter much to her, no her focus was mainly over their heads, beyond the charred mountains of rubble and iron to the sky, straining to see something she felt lay just beyond her sight, but things some of the people did on occasion caught her attention. A bald man with stick thin arms walking a mop of a dog tip toed passed with a look of quiet panic, a woman whose body type could only be described as a sack filled with mashed potatoes wore a gargantuan red and yellow spotted dress seemingly designed to highlight her obesity drudged by with a scowl that dragged down her cheeks to touch her chin, the dress in its vividness tempted Hannah greatly to reach out and touch, a tiny pale hand with cold pinked knuckles uncurled in her lap but did not move past her own personal bubble.

Leaves skittered by on a light breeze and chill seeped through her loose, thin clothing, teasing her small pink nipples and making her squirm. Above her a bird flew, seizing her attention immediately, it was chasing what she assumed was a bug, she squinted up at the scene, the bird suddenly caught its prize and took a sharp turn to bring the tid bit back to its babies. For a moment her mind went to her own mother, but she quickly shook her head, dismissed the thought and put her focus back on the sky and the things just out of her vision.

Walking down the street engulfed in his own musical world, a teenage boy with skin the color of coal and comically droopy pants bobbed his head to some song that radiated from his headphones, as he walked his hips seemed to tilt back as if he were sitting on an invisible chair. His hair was lighter than hers, nearly yellow and clumped in too long, thick dreadlocks that swung in the air as his head moved to the beat As his head moved she thought she saw something strange, the tips of his ears seemed pointed and too high on his head, but no...She shook her head that would be silly. Dismissing the oddity she observed him further with curious eyes. Sensing her gaze he turned, checked her out and threw her a wicked, oddly pointy toothed grin and winked as if they were in on the same joke, then, not missing a beat, walked off again.

Nervously she smiled back, but too late for him to see. Across the street another boy watched this exchange with a twinge of jealousy and not without some effort on his part, caught her eye. Tall, wiry and filled with a sense of cool arrogance that only teenage boys seem to be able to master, he leaned against a brick building, a joint in his mouth. His loose clothing draped over him, but unlike the way Hannah's hung off her body, his were noticeably the wrong size on purpose. A few inches of his stomach were exposed, his hips shaped clearly in a v, highlighted by a light happy trail.

The hood of his jacket fell back, revealing his thick barbed wire curly brown hair and sarcastic smirk. She wasn't sure but she thought his name was Jallob...one of the towns many drug dealers, not a big time one, not like Carl or Jun, two of her mother’s favorite people, not just a pot dealer. Something set him apart from the other residents of the town in her mind though, he seemed...healthier, still cold toned and pale, but less hungry looking, more awake, like the affluent people who on very exceptional occasions would pass through in their nice cars restored like new from the old world, their children in the back seats, noses pressed against the glass taking in the gloom with confused or apathetic eyes.

“Less dead” something whispered in to her ear. Startled she turned both ways but found no one near her. His face was like hers, she noted, eyes too big and alert, the rest of his features angular and dainty and always somewhat mischievous looking, his smile was slightly too wide for comfort, she wondered why he was grinning so wide before she realized his too big eyes were on hers.

Without thinking she almost met his gaze, but swiftly averted her eyes before it could happen. She felt ashamed and stupid for forgetting and she had almost caused it again, the searing pain that occurred whenever her gaze met someone else's. A gift her mother called it, the ability to read others thoughts, no matter how weak the connection, or the tradeoff. As with any sort of magics there had to be a repercussion, in Hannah's case the trade was not balanced, she had to make eye contact and she only received passing thoughts, in exchange both parties endured great pain.

She couldn't control it and anyone who she happened to meet eyes with for more than a few moments was struck by an overwhelming pain and left on their knees, crippled by shock and crying out to their respective gods, the pain she felt was worse but she was somewhat used to it after so many years but still avoided it...if she could. The boy smiled at what he mistook for coyness, the burning red on her cheeks from disappointment in herself taken for shyness. His eyes took in her sweet face with large eyes and pouty full lips. With uncommon enthusiasm and friendliness, he gestured for her to come to him. She shook her head no, eyes on his shirt, he grinned impossibly wider at her distrust while determinedly signaling her with a wave.

“Come on.” He mouthed. She sighed, this boy just won't give up, will he, she relented and stood from her seat on to tired legs and crossed the street, her worn down boots striding over the bumpy coarse surface of the concrete, avoiding the large holes and cracks that gave the street the appearance of a puzzle.

“Yes?” Confused and mildly annoyed, she stood before him, feet set apart at shoulder width, her hands on her hips. She had to tilt her head back to glare at him, it was cute, he could see down her shirt because it was so loose, she didn’t have much of chest but that was exactly how he liked it, he bit his lip and he chuckled a bit at her tough guy stance. “What's so funny?” She cocked her left eyebrow.

“You're Hannah, right?” He took her in head to toe and leaned further against the gray-red brick building behind him, a long, thick charred black crack slicing through the wall like a mortal wound, leading to the right side of the building where a huge chunk of the corner had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole that was filled with darkness. The empty blackness called out to and repulsed her simultaneously, turning her attention back to the boy and trying her best to ignore the abhorrent tugging she nodded nervously, the way her brown eyes, tinted with burnt orange gazed up at him as if expecting a blow took him aback and his grin faded slightly. He righted himself and took a step closer.

“Yeah” She looked him up and down without shame as if his motivations could be seen on his shoes or shirt if she looked closely enough. For a moment her eyes paused on the line of his hips and the slight bulge of his pants.

“You're Lauren’s...”

“Yeah,” she cut him off and flipped a large curl out of her face with a sudden jerk of her chin “I'm her daughter.” From the corner of her eye she glanced back at the motel both out of habit and mortification of her mother’s reputation, she was a whore who had sucked nearly every cock in town. She didn't want him to see her shame. Despite her being fifteen, she was the size of a eleven year old and the boy towered over her, uneasily, she took a step back.

“I’m not gunna hurt you or anything…”he smiled, this time more sweetly then sarcastic. “Look, I’ve been trying to talk to you for a while now…but that mom of yours…” he trailed off, not wanting to slander he mother, he didn’t have to, her mind went to her mother, tall blonde and once had been very sexy but was now worn down and nasty from far too many drugs, since they had moved here her mother had pushed herself on every dealer in town including Jallob, not for sex or romance but for the free drugs that came with fucking a drug dealer.

“It’s ok, you can say it,” Hannah laughed somewhat bitterly “she’s a pushy slut, you know it…I know it, god knows every guy in town with ten bucks knows it so there’s no point in pussying around it. He laughed suddenly and shook his head.

“Ok, wow not exactly what I was expecting. Not a big fan of your mom?” Running his fingers through his scruffy hair he looked down at her in surprise and amusement.

“No, not exactly. But she feeds me, sometimes.” Hannah smiled a little and brushed a twisted lock of hair behind her ear. “So…what exactly is it that you want?”

“A friend, I guess” he shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Pretty much everyone else is either too high or too stupid to have an actual conversation with, and it gets boring and lonely really fast.” he shrugged, his mask of confidence once again on and he slouched back on to the wall.

“Alright I guess…what do friends do exactly?” She questioned, thinking of a few things she would love to do with him, which of course made her face burn.

“Hang out?” He smirked “like tomorrow, at eight.” he winked.

“Uh, ok…” She bit her lip, and then looked away. Somewhere above her something bright orange flew past, catching her eye, she looked up…but it was already gone.

It was happening again…thick coarse hands ran over her arms. In the dark she could see nothing, but she squeezed her eyes shut anyway. Behind her eye lids orange sparks flitted in and out of existence. A large hand slid down her smooth belly and shoved itself in to her panties. She jumped and flinched from the strangers touch.

When she had fallen asleep her mother had still been out, “working”, this was probably one of her Johns, bored with the older women’s wiles had moved on to Hannah, her mother let them… for a price. She took in a deep breath; it came out a mix of a sob and a whimper. A hand grasped her tiny breast and a needle was pressed in to her arm; she was expecting it as she was often drugged for the ordeal so she would stay silent, she shook with effort as she fought the drug. She fought the thick clumsy hands, a man laughed and a large slippery tongue ran over her neck.

Quickly though her strength faded and orange orbs grew behind her lids until they could contain the no more, her eyes flew open as the world exploded in oranges and yellows. She was gone, hyper aware of every touch, movement and feeling but unable to decipher what they meant. His hands were on her, she knew that, she could feel the pressure, but her skin was numb. Inky green crept in to her dazed world, disgust of the man turning her stomach, he smelled like rot and onions, if she had eaten that day she thought she would have vomited.
Somewhere her mother laughed sharply and Hannah keened so hard her tiny frame shook. Red fireworks flashed over her vision as the man took out his knife and gently pressed it to her bare leg. The glitter of the black blade broke the darkness and haze of the drugs.
Hannah curled inward having nowhere else to go and the man chuckled, amused. The man caressed her skin with the blade, flicking it on occasion on the thicker scars that lay over her legs; the blade traveled up her thighs and in between them. He slid the blunt side of the blade over her pubic mound and hips and circled her belly button, leaving a trail of cold and dread in its path. She shivered and the knife nicked underneath her rib cage, cutting through her t-shirt.

A tiny dot of red grew from beneath the shirt, dying the white fabric in one small spot, the man didn’t seem to notice this and move on quickly from her chest where he toyed with her nipples for a moment before going to her neck. A knot grew in her throat and despite the drugs she stiffened. The man said something illegible to Hannah, but she could make out the pleasure in his tone. His other hand was still on her, rubbing her and despite herself; she felt her body being pushed over the edge. With the cold switchblade at her neck she became overwhelmed with fear and pleasure amounting to a very unwanted orgasm. He slid the blunt side of the knife under her chin the rubbed the edge on the curve of her lower lip.