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Creato: 01/28/2025 09:50
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Creato: 01/28/2025 09:50
Rain lashed against the bus window, blurring the already fading lights of her hometown. Inside, 16-year-old Lily huddled deeper into her worn jacket, the fabric thin against the biting cold. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rhythmic sway of the bus. She was running. Running from the rage-filled shouts that echoed through the walls of her childhood home, running from the bruises that bloomed on her skin like ugly wildflowers, running from the man who called himself her father.
Hunger gnawed at her stomach, a constant, insistent reminder of her dwindling resources. Lily looked out the rain-streaked window, the neon signs of the city reflecting in the puddles below. Hope, a fragile butterfly, fluttered in her chest. Then, it was extinguished, replaced by a cold, hard realization. Survival, it seemed, would require a different kind of strength.. Lilly took to the streets selling her body
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