My feet hit the pavement hard. I fell into the ground, the harsh concrete cutting my right knee. I leapt back up, getting my feet underneath me before running down the alleyway. The rain was pouring and I was soaked. The puddle water jumped up at me as I ran, mixing with the blood steadily dripping down my knee. I looked behind me in the darkness and saw nobody chasing me. I dove for the alcove just to my left and squeezed myself behind the soggy boxes next to the dumpster. It had a smell so bad it was cutting off fresh oxygen to my desperate lungs. But at that point in time I didn't care.

I was free.

I had escaped.

It had taken me nineteen years, but I was free.

I pressed my back against the concrete alcove behind me, hoping the degrading cardboard boxes kept me from sight. I tried to calm my breathing down, but the physical tests didn't prepare me for running for my life. Sure, they had tried to get me that physical but running from a 3D animation wasn't the same as running for freedom. Your freedom. It gave you newfound strength. It gave you speed that training didn't give you. Although the taste of rotting food lingered in my mouth, the taste of freedom took precedent. It tasted beautiful.

I shivered from the cold. The rain stayed away from my little alcove, but it was there. The winter was receding still lashing out with its sharp bitter tongue. But I would take this over my warm windowless room any day. Any day.

I wrapped my arms around me curled up and drifted into an exhausted sleep. It wasn't fitful and when I awoke the next day I was still tired. But my stomach started grumbling and that made me nervous. I didn't know how to live on the streets. I didn't know how to cope with a day that wasn't strict routine. I had a lot of learning to do. I crawled from my alcove, checking that the alley was just as empty as last night. It was.

I stood tall, stretching. The pain in my feet made me rethink my options. I looked down at them, they were bare and cut, blood smeared in between my toes. I tested my weight on them and decided I could cope. Pain was an old friend. Pain taught me how to endure and survive.

For the first few days I didn't stray from my alley. But hunger drove me out of my alleyway, it drove me to desperation. I was growing weak, dehydrating even thought I managed to drink some rain water.

I stayed in close proximity to my alleyway. I didn't stray off the block just hanging around the restaurant on the corner on the block. They chucked out food in bags at the end of the night and usually I survived mainly off that. It wasn't all good stuff, but sometimes they chucked out half cooked meat, or vegetables. I didn't mind eating them, hording them as it brought goodness to my life. It gave me hope. I was surviving. And if someone like me could survive, then maybe I could flourish too.

I took it upon myself to teach myself new tricks. My jeans were dirty and blood was soaked into them. Mud had caked them. My blouse wasn't much better. It had a few holes where it got snagged on the rough concrete. So I had to learn how to steal. I had to learn to survive and flourish. I didn't need to pass day by day I needed to rebuild my life. So I learned how to steal, how to find the good food. As the days turned to weeks, the rain lessened, the cuts healed, and the freedom was just as sweet as the day I ran.

I hadn't come across shoes in my travels yet, but I had about eight pairs of socks that usually did the trick. They were left on a washing line. I took them all, piling four pairs onto my feet and storing the other four in my little alcove. I had some new clothes, a thick jumper and a few tops. Two pairs of jeans found their way to me, which meant I was considerable warmer in the cold season. It meant I didn't have to shiver. I didn't have to lay awake cold. I was warm.

In my travels I found a small pen knife and dart was left in an open window, some sort of cardboard project sitting on a roughly built desk. I felt awful for stealing, but I needed to find a weapon for safety, and some way to protect myself. I had to scale the wall to get them, but the little cuts on my fingers and toes was worth it. The two weapons made me feel slightly safer. I knew the dangers out there, I just didn't know where.

I found plastic boxes that I could store some dry food in. They were a little banged up but worked all the same. Someone had chucked out food in tins. The dates had expired, but I risked it anyway. My alcove stayed behind the dumpster, and my cardboard boxes were easy to replace when the collectors took the dumpster for emptying. My hair grew in lengths, but I found a small ditch where the water usually looked clean enough for me to have a small wash. I made sure that even though I was on the streets I was respectable. And that meant the one thing I didn't want to do. I had to cut my hair.

I hated the idea. I hated it. But I took my blade and with my heart in my throat and cut the locks. The red curls falling. I stared at the curls oblivious to a woman working her way towards me. My ruby red curls, the ones I had been proud of.

"Want some help?" The woman asked, making me jump. I turned welding the knife. She smiled at me. "Dearie, I just want to help. Living life here is rough enough, without going around with a misshapen haircut." I looked to her and she seemed to wait.

"What did you want for in return?" I asked, voice course from its lack of use.

"Nothing dearie. People can be nice. Especially in times where life is hard." I looked at the woman, she had cropped brown hair like a pixie. She was petite, with a white face. Her large brown eyes were lighter than her mahogany hair. She had a gentle smile and she didn't move, as if waiting for my permission. Her shirt was in tatters, more holes than actual clothe. Her trousers were far too big, as if they were the only ones she could find. She had some string holding them up. She was right. She did just want to help. I turned the knife, handing it to her. She smiled and moved forwards, her shoes, some old branded trainers, were holey too.

"Thank you." I said softly. Hating the words out my mouth.

"I'll not cut it short like mine, it's too beautiful." I crossed my legs and faced away as she knelt down behind me. I felt her hands all over my hair and the blade cut away, the curls falling. "It'll grow back." I didn't say anything as she cut away. Minutes passed in silence. We didn't speak to each other. I waited patiently for all my locks to go. I felt her move away and she looked at me smiling, holding her hand up. I took it and she stood me up. Then she manoeuvred me to face a window and I saw my reflection. My curls weren't long, hanging to my waist, they were short touching my shoulder.

"I don't look fierce. I look cute." I sneered.

"Dearie, there is nothing wrong with cute." She grinned hanging me back the weapon. My curls when I pulled on them showed the rough edges, but as long as they remained curly, nobody could tell a blade had sheared them. "Cute and innocent means people underestimate you. They don't see you as a threat. So when you become threatening, it scares them. A woman, like you, should not be a fear factor." I looked at her, seeing wisdom in her words. "My name is Miah."

"I don't have a name anymore."

"Then make one." She said shrugging. "Whatever rough life you led before, does not mean it is rough now. You have freedom, a chance to live."

"I want to flourish. Not just live."

"Then flourish my dear girl. Flourish like nobody has seen before. Here on the streets does not mean you can't flourish. It means there is no cage. You don't have a name, invent one. You are free to be who you want and when you want. Who has their right to tell you anything anymore?"

"My tummy when I'm hungry, my feet when they are sore,"

"The wind when you are cold. If you let something like that beat you, you'll not flourish dearie. Only the persistent survive, the dreamers live, and the wisest flourish. Are you wise?" I nodded. "Then prove it. Flourish." She smiled, and then slowly wandered back off.

I forgot about her for a few days, taking some mint from the lorry next to the restaurant, and small cans of food and sometimes a sweet thing called chocolate. It was very sickly, but the bars usually lasted me about ten days. I had lost weight, but my travels kept my muscles fit, even if by the end of the evening I was so exhausted I practically passed out. My little bin bag for protection and rug keeping the floor dry and soft.

I didn't think about her until I was washing my cropped hair in the river at night. And I realised I never thanked her for her wisdom, her kindness. And I felt like I needed to. It was hard to trust someone, to let anyone decide they could be near me, but she hadn't posed a threat. And she hadn't seemed to care that I may have been. She wanted to help. And I wanted a friend. I never had one before. But now I needed one. They sounded good.

Because the weather was creeping into summer the rain was becoming far less. I was struggling to find somewhere to wash my hair and collect water. I then thought if I had to expand, expand. Flourish. I expanded the city more than I wanted to. It had been a few months, but until I fully could stay on my feet I didn't want to risk it. But I had to start living. I wasn't in some room awaiting orders. I was alive. I was free. And I had to find the best place for everything. So I did.