After days of trying to convince my mother to let me in the house, I found out that she had a lover. A rich and moderately handsome lover. I can't say that I'm not jealous, but I just wish I could have someone. The path I took wasn't the safest, in terms of stability, but it was what I wanted to do, even though it meant that I would probably never find love.

The night I found out that my mother had a lover was the night I knew that this wasn't the world I grew up in. It couldn't be, there was just no way. I cried for hours in the rain, because I knew that my mother was a workaholic and never looked for love after I was born, after my dad had abandoned her. It made sense now. Why she didn't recognize me, why none of my friends knew me.

I went to one of those homeless shelters and asked if I could spend the night there, because I knew that my mother would never let me in and sleeping in the park was going to be the death of me. They surprisingly let me in.

I went to the library the in the morning, because I knew that there were computers that anyone could use and I didn't have mine. I made another email account, because I knew that my old one didn't work in this world, and signed up for some writing program on the internet that is linked to my new email account.

I wrote several pages on the program before I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked at who did it and it was this young man with shaggy hair and a green sweatshirt.

"How can you type so fast?" he asked.

"I have a good idea." I said, "How about you leave me alone?" The young man frowned.

"Why?" he asked, "I'm just curious. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"I'm sorry, I don't want to talk right now." I said, "Let me go back to work." I waved him off and turned back to what I was doing. The green sweatshirt guy sat at the computer next to me on the right and stared at me as I went back to typing. It was really hard to concentrate with him right there, but I ignored him and wrote out the story. I was lucky that he didn't bother me again.

Soon enough the story was written and I printed it out. I logged off the computer and went to pay for the copy of the story. The librarian didn't really talk to me, aside from telling me that my papers cost $1.40, that was it. I left the library and went to the place where I used to publish with.

"You want to publish with us?" a receptionist asked as I went into the building and then she scoffed, "Not just anyone can publish with us." I sighed.

"Look, m'am." I said, "I just want one person to look at this. One person." The receptionist took my story and looked through it quickly.

"This is riddled with errors." She said, "Edit and send it back."

"Well, I did write it in only two hours." I said, "Of course there would be errors." The receptionist dropped my manuscript in shock and glared at me.

"Ten or so pages in two hours?" the receptionist asked, "There is no way. I doubt that anyone could do this, ever." I sighed.

"If you aren't going to take it, at least give it back to me." I said. The receptionist picked up my manuscript and threw it at me.

"You'll never publish with us." she said. I sighed again and walked out with my papers. Oh well, I have to find a job now, I can't live on the streets forever.