<br/><div class="floatright">(http://i48.tinypic.com/awbx3q.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Tabitha Franks<br/><strong>Nickname(s)</strong>: Frankie<br/><strong>Age</strong>: 16<br/><strong>Sexuality</strong>: Bi<br/><strong>Addictions</strong>: Cigarettes, Ecstasy, Alcohol<br/><br/><strong>Group</strong>: Thief<br/><br/><strong>Appearance</strong>: Tabitha has a tiny stature, being only about 5'2" and around 103 lbs. Her frame is almost tom-boyish, with a tiny chest and hips that only add to the 'little girl' appearance. Her hair is a dark brown shade, almost mahogany in color, long and wavy. She's no beauty queen though and rarely takes the time to do anything with it, leaving it loose with the waves breaking out all over the place or pulled back into a rough knot ponytail. Her skin is pale, with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She doesn't wear any make-up, ever. Her eyes are hazel, the blue outer ring being a dark shade that smears into a light green, flecked with gold. They are by far her best asset. She dresses in comfortable clothing. Tabitha has never worn heels, or dresses, or skirts. She prefers baggy men's jeans, little t-shirts, and tennis shoes.<br/><br/><strong>Personality</strong>: Tabitha is shy and quiet normally. She has always been withdrawn and finds it hard to make friends easily. She prefers her own company on the day-to-day basis, but her loneliness has lead to a depression that gets the best of her, eating away at her. It's in those moments that she turns to ecstasy, the one drug guaranteed to turn the little doormouse into the life of the party. Suddenly she's happy. She's hyper and bouncing around from room to room. She's friendly and babbles and makes a complete fool out of herself, but it is in those moments when people would be able to see that behind that quiet exterior is someone with at least some sort of personality. However, when she comes down from that ridiculous high she tends to sink into an even deeper depression, closing herself off from the world. Her temper gets a little more raw and she can be known to pick fights with people who won't give her the space she needs to heal from her latest binge.<br/><br/><strong>Background</strong>:<br/><br/>Tabitha was eight when her mother left. She woke up, went downstairs for breakfast in her pajamas, and no one was there. The usual smell of coffee was missing, the cereal box her mother always left on the table with the little white and blue bowl and the metal spoon, all gone. The table sat empty, the sink full of dirty dishes from the evening before, the front door wide open. With a yawn, Tabitha rubbed her eyes and headed for the door. Her father was sitting on the porch steps, his head in his hands. He didn't even hear her come up behind him. A bottle of some kind of dark liquor sat next to him, half-empty and open so that the smell of the strong alcohol stung her nose when she sat down beside him.<br/><br/>He didn't even turn to look at her when he spoke, "She's gone." Tabitha didn't remember much else about that day. She knew she cried and he'd yelled at her for it. She remembered him dropping her off at the neighbor's, even though he told her that the old woman there was scary and she didn't want to go. He came back a few days later and collected her and by then Tabitha was happy to see anyone, even if it were her father. He was drunk enough that she had to guide him back to their house, the first of many such nights.<br/><br/>The relationship between her and her father continued in the same destructive pattern. His drinking increased until he lost his job. He sold the house and bought a cheap little motor-home for them to live in. When he traded the truck in to pay off some debt, Tabitha was forced to walk to school every day. Her father nursed beer all day and practically bathed in liquor at night. He never forgave her mother for leaving, not that Tabitha could blame him. She was beyond hurt herself that her mother have run off, leaving her to deal with her father. Time and time again she considered leaving him to take care of himself, but then he'd get into one of those weepy moods and tell her how much he loved her.<br/><br/>She had just turned 16 the last time that happened. He'd come home drunk and she had made herself a little cake. When he saw the cake he realized it was a new reason to celebrate, popping a fresh beer out of the fridge and raising it in toast to his daughter. Tabitha tried to celebrate with him a bit, but when he began to stumble around the kitchen she moved him up to his bedroom. It was there that he grabbed her, fell on top of her and began to try to yank her shirt off. "Katherine...Kat-Kat..." He thought she was her mother, and Tabitha screamed at him, punching his chest and begging him to get off. When he pushed her further up on the bed her arm flew out and hit the lamp on the nightstand. Grabbing it quickly, she swung it and caught her father in the temple. His eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed, falling off the bed and onto the floor. Blood ran from a large cut on the side of his head and Tabitha rose shaking. "I killed him...I killed him..."<br/><br/>Her mind ran in circles as she threw things in her bags. By the end her schoolbag had been stuffed with random pieces of her life, her mother's old, leather purse the same. She tossed her father's hunting jacket on and was out the door. His wallet was still in the pocket and as she slipped the bills out later to pay for the bus fare she knew she'd never come back.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 6pt;">Ezekla</span></div>