<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #4080FF">Ceerie</span></div><br/><br/>Ceerie watched the hustle and bustle of the train station as morning commuter ran around Union Station trying to get to work on time. They were all running to something. Ceerie and her brother were running away. Away from a miserable existence that might not rank as the worst of all time, but it was close enough for her. Her hand lifted to her face. It still stung. She touched it lightly to make sure that the makeup covering the fresh bruise didn't come off. Someone might notice. Too little, too late. Where were they when her father's fist was making the bruise in the first place? Hypocrites are boundless. No, she wouldn't report him, turn him into the police, or even get revenge on him. She'd just decided it was time to leave. Time to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.<br/><br/>The voice on the loudspeaker announced a train and some buses just coming into the terminals. She wondered how her brother was doing with the tickets. They probably wouldn't give him any trouble. They weren't little kids after all. Victims don't need an age, though. Anyone can be a victim no matter how old.<br/><br/>Her eyes fell on the enormous clock built into the wall high above the archway entrance into the main area of Union Station. Seven in the morning exactly. She had that urge again. A strange sensation in the back of her mind. Like the minute hand was moving slower than it should be when she payed attention to it. A few days ago, the minute hand of the clock in her bedroom had actually stopped. She was going crazy. Her father had finally managed to ruin the one thing she thought belonged to her - her mind. He was going to take that too, in the end. Maybe running away was pointless in the grand scheme of things.<br/><br/>A woman and a young boy sat down next to her on the bench. He fidgeted and the mother handed him an ice cream so he'd calm down. He did, enjoying his treat and sneaking glances at Ceerie from the corner of his eye. The mother looked flustered. She was speaking on the phone with someone, but Ceerie didn't care enough to follow the conversation. The boy smiled at her, revealing white lips and teeth covered in ice cream. She realized she was smiling back. She realized it because her check was complaining about it. Her smile faltered, and her hand visited the spot again. The boy frowned and his own hand reached to his shoulder. Get them while they're young, she thought. Was it the boy's mother, or was it the father? Maybe even an older brother. She hoped he'd have to courage to speak up sooner than she'd had the courage to leave home. No, it wasn't her home. It was just the place where she had lived.<br/><br/>She smiled at the boy again. Then she stood and looked for her brother.