The Lost Island

Introducing Maxine White

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Escaping Death

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Golden eyes, ones that haunted many dreams. That's what she saw looking in the mirror, with a sigh Max picked up her backpack. Grabbing her plain loose T-shirt.

As quick as she could she slipped it over her body, covering the many scars on her chest and certain areas of her upper body. A glass shattered from downstairs, as screaming started echoing through the household.

He was home. Fear fresh in her body but not showing slightly in her facial expression, Max opened her bedroom window. Determined to get away, away from the pain. Away from him.

"Now or never," she whispered beneath her breath closing her eyes tightly as she heard someone approaching, loud heavy footsteps making their way up the wooden stairs.

"Where are you?!" A male voice growled, hatred dripping off each word like it was dipped in a bucket of venom.

Throwing her backpack over her shoulder she threw her legs out the window eyeing the fall down. BANG! Her bedroom door hit the wall as the tall muscular man came into the room, his green eyes narrowed.

"You're not escaping that easily bitch!"

Her playful smirk entered her features like she wasn't the least bit fazed, ignoring the fact that she was cowering on the inside.

"Oh, this isn't a escape." She chuckled her voice smoother than whiskey, she raised an eyebrow before continuing, "Think of it as a good riddance to bad rubbish!"

Before the man could react she had jumped, and swiftly landed on her feet on the grass. Having practiced it millions of times before. Her black hair with purple streaks pulled back into a tight ponytail.

She was off in the night, to a place no one can hurt her anymore. She knew what she was searching for, and she knew where to go. She ran, faster than most. Her lack of weight and her extra spared energy carrying her until she couldn't view that house.

Knowing for sure he wouldn't follow

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Maxine White, a survivor of mental and physical abuse. Thrown onto the streets at what seemed like the moment she first took a step into this world. Having to learn how to fight and claw her way to the top to survive.

Not an open book, No. She rarely spoke of her emotions, rarely showed them either. She was designed to lead, trained to fight anything in her way. Her conscious one that betrayed her past and the way she had been designed from birth to be a killer. Instead she wanted to be a giver, a care taker. A helper, a good leader.

She wanted to be someone who could be loved. She needed someone who wouldn't put her through what her father put her and her mother through. Year's of abusive which took away her childhood made her lethal, maybe she didn't want to be lethal. Maybe she just wanted to be herself...

So that's what she became