When I ran away, I thought I had packed all the things I would need. But that was back in August, when the weather was still nice. Now it is early November, and it's freezing at night.

Frankly, I'm surprised I've survived this long. I brought some food, plenty of matches and a small tent. All of the food that I had brought along ran out in the middle of October and half the matches got wet in a rainstorm. I somehow managed to survive on bits of edibles from the forest, but now everything is dying in the cold. I even ate some scrapes I found in garbage cans from the nearby houses, but that did not suffice.

Maybe part of me thought that I would end up going back home soon enough. But, that's not an option anymore. A couple nights ago I tried to go back into my house. I told myself it was just to get some more food and a coat, but who knows what would have happened had I made it in. Unfortunately, my parents had changed the locks and my key did not work.

Sighing, I crawled back into my tiny and air-crisp tent. I folded the couple of thin blankets I had on top of my thinning and fragile body. The last thing I hear is the faint grumbling of my stomach before slipping into the dark abyss.