She was tired and angry, and as she ripped off her black sneakers and threw them toward the pitted wall, she knocked over the clay lamp that had been resting on her old, wooden nightstand, smashing it into pieces. But she didn't give a damn. She was angry, angry about having been betrayed by everyone she knew. And she looked and felt like a wreck. She hated her filthy, pink t-shirt that she was only wearing because she got it for her birthday and her mother would be annoyed if she never wore it. And then there were the jeans that no one liked but her. Even if they were beat-up and rugged, she didn't care what anyone else thought.
As she stood up, she stamped across the dusty floor of her bedroom and looked out the dusty window with its cracked sill. The backyard was still a joke with its weeds overtaking the yard. As she spotted the one last daffodil in the back, surrounded by the encroaching crab grass, she couldn't help but feel the same way, like everyone around her just wanted a piece of her for themselves. As she turned away, she got a clear reminder how everything in the room reminded her about how much she hated home. The old dresser that was against the wall reminded her of her grandmother, the same witch that insulted her constantly when she was just a girl. It was only given to her because they had nowhere else to put it after her grandmother died. As she went to change her shirt, she saw the dent in the second drawer again, the one caused by her brother throwing his baseball at her one of the many times they had gotten into a fight. As if she really needed another reminder why she hated him too.
She then headed over to the closet, the same one with the cracked doors and the musty clothing inside. She then grabbed her rugged, gray hoodie at random, feeling rebellious. She threw it on, covering the dirty, pink t-shirt she hated, and pulled the hood up over her head, shadowing her face. As long as she kept away from people, they'd learn to leave her alone.