I hate this place. I hate the way it smells like death and mold in the same breath over and over again. I can’t get the smell out, though, if I’m honest, I haven’t tried all that hard. I opened a window, but I quickly realized there are no screens, so I closed it before the bugs tried to move in with me. Cleaning seems too daunting. And too permanent. I’m not staying here.
Mom said this was going to be hard. She said it was going to be the toughest thing I had to do ever in my entire life. Her voice penetrates my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but it has to be you.”
She pushed a one way bus ticket in my hand.
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