“How could you do this to me?” I screamed at the top of my lungs, ripping at the soft skin on my face.

    Tears stung my eyes as I began losing hope. The boxes were being moved in the truck. With every step my mother took towards to car, my heart broke more and more.

    “I f***ing hate you!” I wailed, hoping to get some reaction.

    Nothing. My face was bleeding and burning and I couldn’t see clearly. My adrenaline was pumping and I had never been so full of rage. My mother just didn’t care. She wouldn’t listen to the words coming out of my mouth, or the blood pouring down my face.

    “Do you not understand?” I attacked.

    She just looked at me, expressionless, and I hated her for it.

    “Shut up!” She yelled.

    That was it. I looked at her with vivid hate in my eyes and took off running down the street. She wouldn’t care anyway, she didn’t love me.

    “Dahlia!” She said, almost sarcastically, like she didn’t care if I went with her or not.

    She was leaving the country, and I wouldn’t be with her. I would be by myself in this country of war and disease. But it was my home, and I would never leave.

    That thought was short lived. While I was running, the moving truck pulled up beside me, and I was swooped in by my mother’s strong arms. I struggled and struggled but she wasn’t letting up. I was leaving the country.

    Months later, I find myself in the Czech Republic.

I hate it here. Men are constantly hollering at me, and I can’t even go to school. I have no friends, and all I can do is cook and clean. I’m done. I can’t live like this.

    It’s dark here. Not just because it’s winter, but my soul has grown dark. I have tried running away, but they always find me. My mother still doesn’t care, she hasn’t even asked me why I keep trying to leave. I hate her more than I hate this joke of a country.

    One night, I decide that I can’t take this anymore. I leave the house at one in the morning and run down the street, ignoring the older men eyeballing me. As I reach the corporate building, I decide this is the way to make things better. I convinced myself this was the way to go, the way to improve everything. To end it. I climbed stair after stair, ladder after ladder, until I reached the top, gasping for air.

    As I approach the edge of the rooftop, I feel the cool breeze on my face. I am happy. Right here, right now, I am happy.

    “This is where everything gets better.” I told myself.

    I backed up to get a head start and go to leap into the darkness of the night, hoping to escape my pain. Someone catches me. It’s my father. He stops my jump, saves my life.

    “You are coming to live with me.” He said.

    I remember crying violently as he drives me across the border of this awful country. I couldn’t be more thankful. To this day, I still can’t understand my thought process that night. I still have so much regret. I still don’t know why my father was there that night, I never asked, but I couldn’t be more grateful.