She hides from all the people. The ones that cause the pain. Cowering in her corner of solitude. Wishing she had never been born. Never calling anywhere home, just wandering the roads thinking of life and watching the people. Content with their cash boxes fishing around when they want a new toy. Never thinking of her. Never thinking of the less fortunate. They’ve trained their minds and will train their children’s to not think of the real horrors of this world. Only the movies. They’re safer than the poverty and hunger, the pain and strife. The Hollywood characters have become blind. Ignoring all the bad, sucking up all the good. Deaf of the cries from the beggars and the ones that know what it’s all about. The ones that know real pain. Not just death, but worse. Something worse than death. Something indescribable. Only someone living it could tell the story of true pain. The ones that have lived with the hatred, the jealousy, and the knowledge that their children will grow up to be the gang bangers and pimps and drug addicts just like their parents. At this point Mom and Dad don't exist anymore. You waste the day begging for a quarter or two. The lucky ones find the money to buy a guitar and learn to play it. They get enough change in their case to buy them a meal once every two days. It’s the lucky ones that get to eat. Under the noses of the blind, deaf and dumb fellows and ladies that drink their fancy wine while the homeless slurp rain from the gutters after a down pour. While the people of our world starve. They're too selfish, making their movies and pretend. Doing nothing to help, when they’ve got plenty to spare. The ones that know what real pain is. Actual feeling. The ones you could follow around with a camera taping their everyday lives and come up with a plot scarier than any Stephen King horror. Because it’s real. No one wants to see what really happens.