prolong

Just walk forward, go to the gym, and help an old lady down the street. Help everyone, but when you get home, you are more likely to end up in prison.

I am Amelia River, 17 years old. For now, I go to the library and the gym, where I do a little boxing. I help everyone but never help myself.

Getting home, I walk into a house from 1945 that is so old it can be patched everywhere. I just stand there, listening to see if it's okay to go in. I hear a very loud crack in the floor. Holding the doorknob, I hear another loud crack. I open the door and leave the house. Maybe I should go to the police. It is much better than facing my father, who could give me a good "butt-kicking." Although, it was a very smart move on my mother's part to leave for a very long time.

Going down the street, I see the police station. I hear it again—a crack that sounds like wood crashing with great force. I run like a bullet down the street with no sidewalk. I reach the police station, walk in, and don't even look at the person in front of me as I head toward the back. I am looking for a certain person's name—the boss, a master, or a friend. He told me that if I ever needed help, I could count on him. For me, I trust a master more than a person. I hope he isn't messed up.

I found it.

Smith is deep inside. Luckily, he was there. Maybe it could have been someone else. I hear a quick, loud voice say, "Come in." Going in, I stood by the side of the door, not sitting down, just looking at him. "Master Sol told me you could help me," I said.

"Please sit down and tell your story and why you need help," Smith said.

Just looking at him, I can see it. He battles with himself. I am damaged—maybe I will never heal.

"You stay in your chair. Please," I said.

I took a big breath and slowly exhaled seven times.

"It started when I was 15 years old. One day, I was at school. When I got home, my mom and dad were yelling. I could hear it as I turned onto my street. I stayed outside, sitting in front, doing my homework on the little table we used when we wanted tea or to play. It might have been night; I am not sure. Finally, my mom came out with her luggage. She didn't see me; she just walked away. It was six months before my dad started acting weird, and then all of a sudden, it became physical pain, then verbal abuse. It took me three months to figure out how to avoid him. I help everyone in the neighborhood. That is what I say," I said.

"Okay, let's do this. I will call your master and try to find a way to deal with this. Then we will go to your father. Maybe I can involve the state. When is your birthday?" Smith asked.

"March 17—is one month from now," I replied.

He called my master on his phone. In 10 minutes, he was here. This was very bad. He had never been this angry before, but to think of me as just a young girl in his eyes.

So finally, I ask for help, little kid.

Smith looked at Master Sol, and it seemed like this would be a long and difficult situation for his friend to handle.

"Sol, the things you put me in are a big favor. Damn, this is four out of seven favors that I don't have to pay for. Hell, we have two ways to do this. One, she goes to an orphanage until she is 18. That way, we can put her father in jail, but she needs to press charges. Two, she runs away to another state. This way, she can't have any contact until she is 18. We'll put her in a program to handle her situation," Smith explained.

"I choose option two from your plan. I wanted that anyway ever since I came here for help. It's not much, but until I am 18, I can do what I want."

After a moment, Master Sol stood up. "Do it, Smith. This counts as four favors from me. No more nonsense."

Smith muttered to himself.

He opened his desk and grabbed some papers for me to fill out.

After 30 minutes, Sol returned with my other papers.

In two hours we finished the paperwork. I am going to Minnesota, to the big city. I will be in my management and BDSM class.