I'm all out of faith. This is how I feel.

I'm cold and I am chained, lying naked on the floor.

I'd sit inside wondering why I couldn't have been out there like the other kids I'd see every day. I was small, short and not yet broad like I'd fill out to be. Let me tell you, when your mother openly does the things mine does, no one treats you like they should. I was just a kid, and every other day I'd have a new scar or bump or bruise. Then I'd get to school and get one from some big guy whose name I don't even want to try to remember. Cato, my brain reminds me. Damn you.

Cato was no doubt a pure bread ass. He was the kind of kid you just knew would grow up to be the biggest bruiser ever. He'd laugh because in my district, our "bath tub" is a bucket. No hot water. No freedom, period. That's what I get for trying to excel in something (aka an education). I get my ass beat down by it.

The final straw, the reason I ran far away, was because I was out cold for four days, a goose egg sized lump on my head after my mother had hit me with a pan. Purposefully. You want to know what I do now? Nothing. I am unemployed. How are you supposed to get a job when you barely ever attended school, have physiological problems and never stay in one place? The answer, my friends, is simple; you don't.

My name is Peeta. I am 23. I'm an alcoholic. I used to have a life, but it slipped through my fingers like the sand of a beach I've never been to. I've been asked to attend these meetings where they talk about drinking problems and getting young people off of the streets. I don't know what that is and I'm as skittish as a deer, so I veer away from that. Now I sit outside of a liquor store, slumped against the wall with my hood pulled down over my eyes, trying to sleep. It's hard when someone kicks you in the leg.

I look up and see a mocha skinned girl, sneering as she kicks me again, her leg hitting the metal of my prosthetic that I mentioned. I didn't mention it? Oh... I got hit by a car when I was little, okay? My mom's car. "Get lost." She growls, looking down on me.

"Do you own the place?" I ask groggily, trying to scoot away.

"Doesn't matter if I own the place, no one wants to see a poor drunk moping around. I said, get lost." She repeats herself, pointing down the road as if it'd do her any good. I just cross my arms, looking down again. "I'll call the cops on you." She warns, a threat I've heard many times in my life.

"Yeah go ahead." I chuckle. She huffs and stomps off, leaving me in peace and soon enough, I drift off to sleep.

Once again I'm disturbed, but in a much less orderly manner. I'm banged atop the head with something hard. I howl in pain, clutching my hand incase whoever this is does it again. I use my good leg to help crawl away from this shit-head. "The lady told you to get lost." A young voice says, cracking me on the head again.

"Ow! Stop, okay!" I yell, curling away. "I'll lea-"

"Gale!" An angry female voice protrudes from the darkness. "What the hell was that?" I hear heels against the cold concrete as I reach under my hood and probing my skull, groaning as my fingers come away stained red.

"Rue told me to take care of him." The man defends, but it does him no good.

"Lawlessly?!" The girl snaps and gets no response. Someone touches my forearm, but I try not to look at them.

"Mister, are you okay?" She asks, right by my ear. I do turn my head to look into stony gray eyes now, and she looks a bit surprised. "You're no mister at all…" She mutters, standing as if my age made me despicable. I look up at my original attacker now, and see a gray eyed brown haired young man, glaring at me. "Leave, Gale." The girl snaps and he hesitantly complies.

I moan again as my head starts to throb, pulling up my bad leg but can't find the strength to stand. I can tell I'm being watched but don't care. "What's wrong with you?" The icy eyed girl asks.

"What does it look like?" I snap. She's silent for a beat before she grabs my arm, hoisting me up, quick to let go and I stumble back into the wall for balance.

` "Are you drunk?" She accuses.

This doesn't heed a response. They always think I'm drunk. "They" being the people with money and houses and lives always presume I'm just a bum. They'd be right. I gain steadiness again, turning to walk down an alley with the odd gait I've possessed since I lost my leg. The girl gasps.

"Oh my… I'm so sorry!" She says hastily, rushing next to me again. "I had no idea you were… you had…" She stammer, touching my shoulder. I throw off her hand, continuing to walk away. "Let me give you a ride at least!" She calls after me and I clench my fists.

"I don't even know where I'm going!" I burst. I blink away the dab of blood that's trickled from the crest of my head down into my eye since I refused to look anywhere but at my feet.

"Well then, come back." She says.

The song was Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn" Review pwease.