My parents had never been good to me. They were always pressing me out in something that I didn’t want to do. My mom died, when I was seven, and my dad had always been mentally ill. We didn’t have a lot of money, so my dad always sent my little brother and me out to steal.
One night my dad began to beat me, because I didn’t want to steal. I had had enough. I was tired of the way he treated me. So, I decided that I would ran away from home. I was only fourteen years old. I had no family nearby, but the closest member was my aunt. My aunt lived in Clifton, New Jersey. It was really late at night, so I decided to catch a cab. I decided to catch a cab, because the train were out of order.
I went outside to a place, were the most cabs usually were. I just randomly picked one. When I went to the car, it was a very tiny car. The man who owned the car got out. I could see that he was about twenty-five years old. He was a very tall man with a Jamaican accent.
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