dandylion
It's not strong anymore, the way she feels. More like ripped up and bleeding, more like wanting to die. She's still daddy's little girl; that's all she's ever been, innit, and that's what scares her. One day, maybe she'll be brave enough to run away from this home that's not a home. One day, maybe she won't have to look at his face every night, dripping and horrid. But those are just one-days; those are just her dreams.
It's a place for that anger and rage that builds up inside of you. It's a secret, really; no one save the owner's friends know of this place, so quiet and serene. All it is is a run down old U-Haul, the small size, that appears to have gone through all sorts of hell to get out into the middle of the desert. But that's okay, because the people that seek refuge in it are just as worn as the truck itself. That's sad, much more sad than you can understand, because all these people are young as you and I and much, much older.
The smell of burning sage is synonymous with those days. Back when life was simple; light some incense and pray for the better days to come. Where are those days, really? They're hidden back in memories, back in that time. Not this time, not this time.