A/N: This isn't a story that goes anywhere. It's a semi-autobiographical snapshot that I needed to put outside of myself, but read and enjoy if you're into something dark.

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Amber wasn’t an orphan, but she didn’t imagine it being much different to her own life. ‘Family’ was something other people had, while she kept to her own company.

Her father and brother were there, at least in body, with eyes glued to the tee-vee set. Truth be told they cared more about wrestling than they did the eldest daughter, and told her so whenever they deemed her worthy of notice.

“Do you really have to wear that around the house?” her father groaned.

She dressed differently to the other girls; short hair, rainbow socks, a denim vest and the brightest shade of lip gloss she owned, but that wasn’t bothered the old man. Whatever. He had no right to comment.

“You look like a faggot,” grunted the boy on the sofa. He wasn’t even looking at her; his face was buried in the phone.

“And you fuck gerbils,” she said.

Her Dad snapped from his seat. “You don’t talk to your brother like that! Go to your room, young man!”

‘Young man’; yeah, like that was going to win her respect. Amber shot him a finger as she stormed through the front door. He had no real authority over her, despite his bluster. Maybe he did it because that’s what he thought fathers were supposed to do.

It was Saturday night, and there weren’t many places for a fifteen year old to go, especially a fifteen year old like her. Barely tolerated at school, and only holding a handful of friends out of pity, the only person Amber could count on was her Mum, and she was a million miles away.

Maybe she’d spend the night under a bridge. There at least she could have a smoke, and think. In the dark, away from human eyes, she could imagine what it felt like to be a real person.