The sun kissed Alice's skin as she ran through the grassland, the wind blew her hair in a gentle breeze. Laughter echoed around her, the sound so pure that it filled her heart with warmth. Her mother and father stood in the distance, waving her with a smiles that stretched wide across their faces. They were shouting her name, their voices soft and full of love.

"Come on, Alice! Come here!" her father invite, his voice is like melody of safety.

Alice turned to see her friends waiting for her eagerly under the large oak tree, their arms are wide open, ready to embrace her. "Hurry up, Alice! We're going to miss so much fun!" one of them shouted playfully. The world was perfect—vibrant colors painted every corner of her vision, and joy flowed freely in the air.

Alice's heart swelled with the happiness she always dreamed of. A life where nothing hurt, where everyone cared, where her parents were still together and friends surrounded her. It was everything she ever wanted.

Everything she needed.

She felt the warmth of the sun brighten her skin, but slowly, something changed. The warmth faded as the colors around her bled into gray. Her friends' laughter grew faint, like distant echoes creeped by silence. The comforting image of her parents are now blurred as they began to fade away. No longer calling her. No longer smiling.

A cold wind swept through, and Alice's heart sank. She blinked, trying to hold onto that dream, but it slipped away, dissolving into shadows. The dream world she wished now shattered into pieces, and the truth came rushing back like a tidal wave—violent and unrelenting.

The room was dark. The air was thick, musty, and heavy with a stench that choked at her throat. The grim reality, sharp and bitter, snapped back into their place. There was no meadow. No laughing friends. No loving parents. It was all in her head.

Alice sat up, dizzy and disoriented, wiping her face with trembling hands. The glue container lay open on the floor beside her, its harmful smell swirling in her lungs. She took a deep breath, then another, holding the vapors in for as long as she could.

Her hands shook, not from the glue, but from the cold emptiness that always followed. It was the only thing that helped her, the only way she knew to numb the emptiness inside her. She'd found it by accident—sniffing glue, just a small experiment that now had turned into a practice. Something to dull the pain, to make her forget the real world, if only for a while.

"This is all I have," she whispered to herself, her voice small and fragile. "This is the only thing that makes it stop... the only thing that lets me escape."

The buzz in her head grew louder, the edges of her reality blurring once again. She wished she could stay in that dream world forever—where her mother wasn't always angry, where her father hadn't left, and where she wasn't the worthless, dirty girl everyone seemed to despise.

In her world, she wasn't a burden. She was loved. She was free.

Alice brought the container closer to her face, ready to inhale once more, but a sudden noise sent her heart racing. The door to her room flew open, slamming against the wall. Her mother stood there, anger etched across her tired face.

"What the hell are you doing, Alice?!" her mother's voice was sharp, slicing through the fog in Alice's brain.

Alice froze, dropping the glue container in panic. The high was fading, reality crashing down around her, but it was too late. Her mother had seen everything.

"You're sniffing glue again?!" Her mother's words were thick with rage, but underneath it, there was something else—disappointment. "I work two fucking jobs, Alice. Two! I do everything to keep a roof over your head, and this is what you do? Is this how you fucking repay me?!"

Alice's heart pounded in her chest as she shrunk back into the corner of her bed, terrified. Her mother's voice was a force of nature, a whirlwind of anger and frustration.

"You're skipping school! You're... you're ruining yourself, do you know that? You're just like your father. Useless. Lazy. Just like him."

Alice flinched at the mention of her father. She hadn't seen him in years, not to mention since he walked out on them, leaving her mother to pick up the broken pieces of their lives. The words hit her like knives, sharp and unforgiving, and all she could do was sit there, shaking, as her mother loomed over her, fists clenched.

"Get up!" Her mother grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of bed with a force that nearly knocked Alice off her feet. "You really want to waste your fucking life? Fine! But not in my damn house!"

Alice's body screamed in protest as her mother's grip tightened. She winced as pain shot up her arm, but she didn't dare fight back. Her mother was right—what was she doing?

"You think I don't know what they say about you at school?" her mother spat, pulling her closer, her breath hot and filled with the bitter smell of cigarettes. "They call you a freak. A waste of space. They say you stink like garbage. And you fucking do! Just look at yourself!"

Alice bit her lip, the tears slipping in her eyes. She hated this. Hated every second of it. The way her mother's words cut her deeper than any bruise. The way they repeat the insults she heard at school every day. The way they made her feel like she was nothing.

"I do everything for you, Alice," her mother's voice softened, but it wasn't kindness. It was weariness, the exhaustion of someone who had given too much for too long. "And this is what I get in return? A daughter who can't even be bothered to go to fucking school!? A daughter who sits in her room, wasting her fucking life?"

Alice's tears finally spilled over, silent and slow, as she crumpled to the floor. Her mother let go of her arm and stood there, looking down at her with a mixture of anger and disgust.

"I can't fucking deal with this anymore," her mother muttered, running a hand through her hair. "I just can't."

With that, she turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Alice lay there, curled up in a ball, sobbing quietly as the pain in her arm throbbed in time with the pounding in her head.

The glue container sat beside her, forgotten.

Reality was always worse than the dream.

Hours blurred into one another, the ache in her body matching the emptiness that consumed her mind. She drifted in and out of sleep, her tears eventually drying on her cheeks. Time moved forward, relentless.

Morning light crept through the curtains, soft and weak against the gray walls of Alice's bedroom. She lay still, staring at the ceiling, her body still sore from the night before. The bruises her mother left on her skin throbbed faintly, a dull ache that hadn't quite faded. The room was quiet—too quiet. Her mother had already left for work, and the silence weighed heavy on her chest.

Alice turned her head slowly, her eyes falling on the glue container that have been left next to her bed. The urge to reach for it, to breathe in its sweet numbness, pulsed through her like an itch she couldn't scratch. It would be so easy. Just one more inhale. One more escape.

But her mother's words from last night rang in her ears—sharp, cutting, impossible to ignore.

"You're just like your father. Useless. Lazy."

Alice's hand hovered over the container, shaking slightly. She wanted to forget, to lived back into that uncertain world where nothing is hurting her and everything felt warm and safe. But fear rooted her in place. Fear of what her mother might do if she found out. Fear of what she had already become.

Her fingers curled into a fist, pulling back from the glue.

"I can't… I can't," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the empty room. She knew she needed to get ready for school. She didn't want to go—everything inside her is begging against it. But she had to. She had to at least pretend she was trying. For her mother's sake.

Slowly, Alice forced herself out of bed, her body still heavy with exhaustion. The thought of facing another day at school twisted her stomach into despair, but well what choice did she have? If she didn't go, her mother's outrage would only grow worse.

She glanced at the bathroom door, knowing she should shower, but the thought of it seemed pointless. They couldn't afford to waste water, not with the bills piling up. Her mother had made that very clear—Alice could only bathe once a week. Any more than that, and it would be another reason for her mother to beat her out.

Her skin felt greasy, her hair limp and lifeless, but there was no helping it. It was just another part of her existence she had to endure.

With a sigh, Alice just walked to the sink, splashing cold water on her face. It was a poor substitute for a bath, but it was all she could do. The reflection staring back at her in the cracked mirror didn't look like a girl that ready for school. Her eyes were sunken, her skin pale, lips dry and cracked. She looked empty, like a ghost wearing a girl's skin.

She didn't even bother to smile at herself. There was nothing left to smile about.

Her clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, dusty and wrinkled from the days she'd worn them. They were too tight now, stretching awkwardly across her growing body, but her mother refused to buy new ones. "You can wear what you have," her mother would say, voice hard and final. "We don't have money for luxuries like new clothes."

Alice pulled on her uniform, the fabric stiff and uncomfortable against her skin. The sleeves barely reached her wrists, and the hemline rode higher than it should, but it was all she had. She ran her hands over the wrinkles, trying to smooth them out, but it was useless. She hadn't been able to iron her clothes for weeks—her mother had banned her from using the iron to save on the electric bill.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. Crying wouldn't help. Crying wouldn't change anything.

She grabbed her old, tattered bag from the floor, its seams fraying and worn from years of use. It was heavy with the weight of her textbooks, but it felt heavier still with the weight of her fear. School was a war, and she was walking straight into it—defenseless and exposed.

"They'll make fun of me again," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "They always do. They'll call me names, laugh at how I smell… how I look. I don't want to go. I don't want to…"

Her hands clenched around the straps of her bag, the anxiety bubbling up inside her like a storm she couldn't control. But she couldn't stay home. If she skipped school again, her mother would find out. And if her mother found out, the beatings would only get worse.

"I have to go," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "I have to. For Mom."

Taking a deep breath, Alice forced herself to stand taller, even though her body screamed for her to hide. She walked toward the kitchen, hoping to find something for breakfast, but the hope has died already. There was nothing left. They hadn't had food in the house for days. Her stomach growled in protest, but she ignored it, just as she had so many times before.

She opened the fridge, though she already knew what she would find. Nothing. The fridge was gone—sold to cover another unpaid bill. The kitchen was barren, like a pile up of forgotten promises. Empty cabinets, broken dishes, a stove that barely worked. It was a exemplification to her mother's desperate attempt to keep them afloat. An effort that was slowly drowning them both.

With a heavy sigh, Alice grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. There was no point in looking for food. There was none. Her mother didn't have time to cook anymore, not with two jobs, and even if she did, there wasn't anything to cook.

Stepping out of the door, the weight of the world pressed down on Alice's small shoulders. The cool morning air hit her face, but it did little to wake her from the depth of her existence. The streets were empty, save for a few people rushing to work, their lives moving forward while hers stood still.

Alice walked with her head down, trying to avoid the stares of anyone passing by. She knew how she looked—dirty, disheveled, and unwashed. The stench clung to her like a second skin, and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, she couldn't escape the way it made her feel. Small. Worthless. Broken.

But still, she kept walking.

Her mother didn't care if Alice was mocked. She only cared that Alice went to school. That was the rule. As long as Alice was sitting in that classroom, her mother could pretend things were fine. That they weren't drowning in debt. That her daughter wasn't sinking into the same darkness that had swallowed her own life.

Alice whispered to herself as she walked, each step a mantra of survival. "It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine."

She didn't believe the words. But she needed to say them, if only to keep herself moving forward.

With her shoulders hunched and her head down, Alice continued toward school, her mind filled with dread. She didn't know how long she could keep pretending, how long she could keep playing this game of survival. All she knew was that for now, she had to keep going.

For her mother. For the illusion of normalcy.

For the hope that maybe, just maybe, things would change.

The school gates loomed ahead, towering over Alice like the entrance to a prison. She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at the building that, despite its liveliness, always seemed cold and empty to her. Laughter echoed across the courtyard as students milled about in clusters, chatting, sharing jokes, and enjoying their morning before class. But to Alice, it all felt distant, as if she were watching a scene from a life that wasn't hers.

Her heart pounded in her chest, every step toward the gates was heavier than the last. She kept her head down, her messy hair falling in front of her face like a veil, shielding her from the world that constantly judged her. She could feel the stares as she passed—students wrinkling their noses at her unwashed appearance, whispering about the stench that followed her like a shadow. But Alice already used to it. She had become numb to the feeling of being less, of being nothing.

The hallways inside the school were even worse, filled with life and energy. The walls vibrated with the sound of lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping in a cacophony of meaningless conversation. Alice moved through the crowd like a ghost, unseen and unwanted, her body pressed against the walls as if she could melt into them and disappear.

She wanted to disappear.

The classroom was no better. The chatter of her classmates filled the room, their laughter grating against her already frayed nerves. Alice slipped in quietly, taking her usual seat in the far back corner, hoping no one would notice her. She kept her eyes glued to the worn pages of her book, pretending to read, though her mind was elsewhere. She could hear the giggles, the hushed whispers about her smell, her clothes, her life. But she stayed silent. She always stayed silent.

That is, until they arrived.

Elise, the queen of the school, entered the room with her usual entourage of admirers. At sixteen, Elise was untouchable—a girl with a reverse harem of boys wrapped around her finger, a girl who reveled in her power over others. She ruled the school with cruelty, her beauty and confidence making her untouchable in the eyes of both students and teachers alike. Every boy wanted her, and every girl wanted to be her. Except Alice.

Alice hated her.

Elise's presence was suffocating. It was as if the very air in the room bowed to her, bending to her will. She had everything Alice didn't—charm, power, beauty. And worst of all, she knew it. Elise's eyes scanned the room before landing on Alice, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips. Her pack of followers laughed behind her as if they already knew what was about to happen.

"Alice," Elise drawled, her voice dripping with disdain as she strutted toward her, heels clicking on the tile floor. "I thought I smelled something disgusting in here."

Alice froze, her hands gripping the edges of her book so tightly her knuckles turned white. She wanted to shrink into her seat, to become invisible, but Elise wouldn't allow that.

"What's the matter, Alice?" Elise mocked, leaning over her desk. "Did you forget to bathe again? Or maybe you're trying to invent a new perfume? Eau de Garbage."

The laughter erupted from Elise's group, her friends feeding off her cruelty like vultures tearing apart a carcass. Alice kept her eyes down, her heart racing as she fought back tears. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but she knew it would only make things worse.

"Please..." Alice whispered, her voice barely audible. "Just leave me alone."

Elise's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh? Did you hear that, guys? She begged me. How pathetic."

The words cut deeper than any wound, and Alice's body trembled. But Elise wasn't done. She never was.

"Get up," Elise ordered, grabbing Alice by the hair and yanking her to her feet. The sharp pain shot through Alice's scalp, but she bit her lip, trying not to cry out. She knew better than to resist.

"You're disgusting," Elise hissed, her fingers tightening in Alice's hair. "Look at you. You smell like a dumpster, and those clothes... God, do you even know what an iron is?"

Alice's breath came in shallow gasps, her face burning with humiliation as everyone in the class watched, not one of them daring to step in. This was simply just an entertainment for them, a twisted game where Alice was the helpless victim. Elise was the queen, and no one would challenge her rule.

"Please," Alice whimpered again, her voice breaking. "Stop..."

But Elise had no mercy. With a sharp tug, she pulled Alice's hair harder, forcing her to stumble. Alice's vision blurred with tears as pain shot through her body, but the worst part was yet to come.

Elise's smirk grew darker. "Oh, we're just getting started, Alice. You think you can come to school smelling like shit and expect no one to notice? Let's see what else is going on under those rags."

Before Alice could react, Elise's hands moved to the waistband of her skirt, yanking it down in one swift motion. The classroom erupted in gasps and laughter as Alice's worn-out underwear was exposed for all to see. The pad she had been wearing for days was visible, stained and tattered, a symbol of her poverty and neglect.

"Jesus Christ," Elise laughed, her voice cruel. "Look at this! When was the last time you changed this thing? God, no wonder you smell so bad."

Alice's tears finally spilled over, her body shaking with sobs as the humiliation consumed her. She wanted to die. She wanted the ground to swallow her whole. The laughter echoed around her, louder and louder, until it was all she could hear.

"You know," Elise said, her voice dripping with malice, "I bet even your mom is waiting for you to kill yourself. I mean, why wouldn't she be? You're just a burden to her. Useless. Just like your dad."

The words hit Alice like a punch to the gut, knocking the consciousness out of her. Her mother... She had always feared that deep down, her mother did hate her. That she blamed Alice for everything. And now, hearing Elise say it, it felt like confirmation.

"Maybe you should just do it," Elise sneered, stepping closer to whisper in Alice's ear. "No one would care. Not your mom. Not anyone. You're nothing."

That was it. Alice couldn't take it anymore.

She tore away from Elise's grip and bolted out of the classroom, tears filled her eyes as she ran. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care. She just needed to escape. The hallway blurred around her as she raced up the stairs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn't stop until she reached the rooftop, throwing the door open and stumbling into the open air.

The city stretched out before her, cold and distant, just like everything else. Alice collapsed to the ground, her sobs shaking her frail body. She clutched onto her chest, struggling to breathe as the pain of everything—her life, her suffering, her loneliness—overwhelmed her.

"Why?" she cried, her voice hoarse. "Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?"

Her words echoed in the empty air, but no answer came. There was never an answer.

She raised her eyes to the sky, her tears blurring the light of the sun. "Why, God? Why did you make me like this? Why did you leave me here to suffer? Why me?"

There was no response. There never was.

Alice's breath hitched as her hand shakily reached into her pocket, pulling out the small glue container she had hidden there. The familiar scent wafted up to her nose, promising release, promising numbness. She could escape again, just for a little while.

As she unscrewed the cap, her hands trembling, she brought the glue closer to her face. She was about to inhale when a voice cut through the silence.

"Hey."

Alice froze, the glue still hovering near her nose. She turned her head slowly, her tear-streaked face meeting the gaze of a boy standing at the edge of the rooftop. He was her age, maybe a little older, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to see right through her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice calm, almost gentle. But there was something else in his tone, something deeper.

Alice stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't know what to say.