This is the story of how I became a teenage prostitute It's not a pretty story. It's not a very funny story either. You don't even know if it has a happy ending. Maybe I'm relaying all this to you from a puddle of my own blood. Or maybe I'm sitting in a mansion, sipping whisky by the pool, getting my feet massaged. Maybe I'm somewhere in the middle.

I guess you'll see. Maybe. If you stick around long enough, that is. Some people get part way through a story and then they just give up. Well, that's not an option that I have. Or had. When my life when to shit, giving up would mean certain death.

Anyway, let's get started.

My name is Edward Shay, and this is how I became a teenage prostitute.

First, I lost my home.

It wasn't much of a home to begin with, really, but it was my home, and it was the only one I really knew. Same goes for my brother, Russel. Who I call Squid. He's younger then me, by seven years. I'm fifteen, by the way. Do the math. I'm sure you can. Anyway, I was fifteen, and had just gotten my driver's permit. I'd been fifteen for quite some time now, but my grandpa, who me and Squid live with, is kind of slow in his old age, so it took a few months for him to work up the energy to drive me down to the DMV.

My grandpa's name is Edward too. I was named after him, in case you didn't figure that out. He's pretty old, somewhere over seventy, I think. He was the last time I checked anyway. He's slow, like I said, tells long, rambling stories that have no plot, and sometimes he needs help getting to the bathroom. He's a pain, but I love him, because he raised me and Squid pretty good. If he knew the things that I did later, after he died, he wouldn't be proud of me.

Anyway, like I said, he pretty much raised me. My dad kind of ditched out on me, Squid, and my mom, when I was just nine years old, and Squid was just a baby. Mom never really told me why, and he never tried to get into contact, so I never asked. I was just like, whatever, fuck you. But then, cliche of cliches, my mother dies. Hit by a car on her way to work. She would have been driving that day, but dad had taken the only car when he'd hit the road, so she'd been walking for the last week.

I was at school when they told me. I hadn't exactly recovered from my dad's absence yet, so imagine how I took it when this little treasure of good news was blessed upon me.

Short story shorter, I started crying right there in the hallway. I mean, come on, I was nine. But you know, I think that even if I was fifteen, I would have cried anyway. I mean, she was my mom.

So after that, me and baby Squid went and lived with our grandfather, who had lost his wife, my grandmother, when I was maybe three. He liked to talk about her an awful lot, and I felt bad that I didn't remember much about her besides her flower shirts, and her constant trips to the bathroom. Grandma Jonie seems like a person I would've liked.

And grandpa always said I looked just like her, which I'm pretty sure was a compliment, even though I'm a guy.

You must be wondering what I look like. Yes? No? I don't really know if I should tell you. It's not because I'm stuck up that way, I just don't know if I want you recognizing me on the streets, and approaching me about all this. It's something I want to put behind me, all this junk.

But like I said, you just don't know, maybe I'll never get away from all this shit.

Let's just say, I'm attractive enough to be a prostitute.

Fine, don't give me that look, you wormed it out of me. You're good.

I'm what you call short. I don't think I'm an inch over five foot, and that's pretty embarrassing, that I can walk past girls taller than me. I'm also pretty skinny, blue eyes, and I have (naturally blond) orange hair that I dye every time I need to. Why orange, you ask? Simple answer. It's my favorite color. My hair is kind of long for a boy, but that's just because I'm too lazy (and poor) to get it cut. I could cut it myself, but I don't trust myself not to stab my own neck, or cut it unevenly. And I'm certainly not gonna ask Squid or grandpa to cut it.

Another thing you might be wondering. Am I gay? I mean, I become a male prostitute, so was that out of force? Of course it was, nobody's a prostitute by choice. Nobody grows up thinking, "You know what, when I'm older, I'm gonna be the damn finest prostitute this country has ever seen!"

But that doesn't answer your question, does it? I could have already been gay, couldn't I? Of course I could have. It'll just be another thing that I won't tell you.

There you go again, giving me that look. Fine, if you insist, I'll tell you.

Well, I'm fifteen, and while I'm always telling my grandfather that this makes me an adult, this is not actually true. I'm truthfully very young, and so my mind isn't always one hundred percent certain of things.

Get what I'm saying?

I wasn't sure yet.

I'd just started having gay fantasies when all this ish went down, and after that, I didn't have much time to think about guys like that.

You know, until I became a prostitute.

I'm getting off track. Sorry, my apologies.

So, one day, me and Squid were sitting in the backyard. I was watching Squid dig a hole, and I wasn't quite sure why he was doing it, and grandpa was inside, watching Family Feud. Or so I thought. But then, after almost an hour of Squid digging that hole, and me alternating between helping him, I suddenly heard an ambulance coming up the street. I ignored it at first, even when it started coming closer and closer, but then it was on our street, and it was coming toward our house, which was at the very end of the street.

I stood up and ran for the front gate, opening it up just in time to greet two paramedics, who were pulling a stretcher behind them.

"What's going on?" I asked them. Squid was standing behind me, and when he saw them, he gasped.

"Grandpa?" he asked them, and we knew that it was, because why else would they be there? We turned and ran for the front door, and when we opened it, I was horrified to find grandpa laying on the ground, unconscious.

"Grandpa!" Squid screamed, and I quickly ran him upstairs, my heart pounding, and told him to stay there until I figured out what was going on. I ran around the living room, trying to get them to tell me what was going on, and from what I understood, he'd had a heart attack, but managed to get to the phone in time to call for help.

Me and Squid waited outside his room for hours, watching nurses and doctors come and go. Only one of them offered us any food, and was nice enough to take Squid down to the cafeteria when he'd agreed. I stayed where I was, waiting for something to happen. They finally let us into his room around one in the morning, and by then, we were too tired to do anything but fall asleep in the extremely uncomfy chairs that they had set in the room. Squid was out almost instantly, leaning against my shoulder, and I followed him closely, hoping that grandpa would be okay, and that I wouldn't have to watch after Squid on my own.

And when I woke up, he was dead.

No goodbyes, no last words, nothing. I just sat up, took one look at his face, and knew. I didn't cry right away, because Squid was still asleep, and I didn't want him to wake up. I went silently into the hallway, looking around for the nearest nurse or doctor. I spotted a nice enough looking nurse, and went up to her.

"Excuse me?" I whispered, looking down at the desk she was sitting behind.

"Yes?" she whispered back, smiling. The reason we were whispering was because it was probably around two in the morning, and patients were probably sleeping. Well, that's why she was whispering probably. I was whispering because I was still in shock.

"My grandfather's dead." I simply said, and her eyes widened. Then she got up and called for a doctor, running off to the room where Squid was still sleeping. I just stood there, quiet.

Right away, I started thinking. I was fifteen, Squid was eight. There was nobody left in our family to take care of us. We would be put in the system, and Squid, being eight and adorable, would be adopted, and I, being fifteen, would probably never be adopted, because everybody wants those cute eyed little munchkins.

We'd be seperated.

And it was going to happen fast.

I went back into the room, where there were now doctor's and nurses looking over my grandfather's body. Squid was awake now, backed into a corner, crying loudly, scared and confused. When he saw me, he ran over, and I scooped him up.

I whispered into his ear, "Say goodbye to grandpa."

He sniffled and turned just a bit, so that he could see our grandfather, and he whispered, "Bye bye granpa."

I looked at my grandpa, who had raised me and Squid, and who had told us long rambling stories with no plots, except when he told stories about Grandma Junie, because then, the plot had always been, I loved her. My grandpa who had comforted me at night when I was little, and had dreams about my parents. Who comforted me when I was older, and had dreams about my parents.

Who I was named after.

"Bye, Edward." I whispered, and then I turned, carrying Squid out of the hospital, tears streaming down my face.

Nobody saw us go.


"What are we doing, Edward?" Squid asked me as I packed our bags. We had to be quick. It wouldn't be long before somebody at the hospital noticed we were gone, and then, people would come looking for us.

"We're leaving." I responded, tossing him a backpack. "Go pack your stuff."

"Why are we leaving?" he asked, clutching the backpack close.

"Because if we don't, they're going to separate us, Squid."

His eyes widened. "Forever?"

I nodded. "Yeah, forever."

And then Squid ran into his room, packing. We packed for a half hour, and then we had two backpacks of clothes, a suitcase full of food, and he had a paper bag filled with toys, and I had a paper bag filled with the books I couldn't bear to be separated from. I'd always been a reader, which surprised a lot of people, and I even had a stuffed animal in there. It was a little goat, named Angus, that Grandpa Edward had given me when my mother died, telling me it had been hers as a child. I'd snagged other family memento's too, a picture of Grandpa Edward, me, and Squid, some of Grandma Junie's necklaces, and Grandpa Edward's painting, the one I liked, of a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean.

I don't know why I liked it. I guess I liked that the lighthouse wasn't were it was supposed to be. Whatever. Grandpa Edward had painted a lot of things, but this one was my favorite, so I was bringing it.

I had other random things I thought we might need, like candles, a couple blankets, a can opener, toilet paper, soap, shampoo, and of course, money. I had grabbed all that I could find. I was hoping we wouldn't be homeless too long, but you had to be prepared.

So, we set out.

We wandered around for a long time that day, dragging our stuff behind us, refusing to let my memories and possessions go. When we passed a Wal-Mart, I snatched a cart as quickly as I could, and set off again. It took me like, ten minutes to actually do the deed-standing there for almost ten minutes, walking around and around the cars, trying not to look suspicious-but I got it done. I knew it would be smarter to just ditch most of my stuff, but these things had been with me for years. And now that my family was gone, they were all that I had.

We had money for a motel room, but I knew nobody would give one to us, so we were just going from street to street aimlessly, getting more tired and hungry with every passing second, and I was feeling more and more depressed, wondering how this all could have happened to us. And here I'd thought that life couldn't get any worse as it was. Not that it had been that bad. But I had been hoping that I'd already suffered all I was required to.

Squid was walking beside me at first, holding on tightly to my hand, but after a while, he got tired, so I let him ride in the cart.

"I'm hungry." he said, and I heard his stomach growl.

"Okay." I said, and so we stopped, and dug through our stuff until we were able to pull out a bag chips. It was already half empty, which is why I had brought it, so I told Squid he could have the rest. I should have been more concerned with his health, but right now, I figured it wouldn't kill him.

We passed a lot of other homeless people, and I kept feeling a twinge in my heart. I'd always felt bad for them, but now, I was one of them. What kind of messed up karma was that? I'd always given them money when I saw them on corners, tried to have a friendly conversation, and this was how the universe thanked me?

I didn't look like them yet, not grungy, and smelly, and sad, but soon, I knew I would too. It was only a matter of time. I had to find us a safe place soon. And I would. It couldn't be that difficult.

As night began to descend around us, I found myself picking up speed. No way would we be safe on the streets, not by ourselves. I had to find us somewhere to stay, someplace where others couldn't find us.

On cue, I stumbled across what looked like a very run down, very small building, that was further away from society, in a dark, mostly empty area. It looked to me like it hadn't been used for years, and when I peeked into a foggy window, it looked empty. This was my first miracle of the day. Now I just had to find a way in. It wasn't hard. The door didn't need much budging to get open, and when I got in, I saw that one of the windows was shattered anyway.

When I stepped in, I knew right away we weren't the first pep[;e who'd stayed here. There were empty cans and ragged pieces of clothing on the ground, and an unbelievable stink in the air. Eventually, I would have to find somewhere else to stay. But for now, this would have to do. And I couldn't be too picky anymore, not in my new life.

"Can you read me a bedtime story?" Squid asked quietly, and I first, I was going to refuse, but then I looked at him, and saw his scared little eyes. Besides, he'd behaved well today. If our roles had been reversed, I might have complained and whined. But he hadn't.

So I lite on of the candles, and read to him softly one of the books I'd brought, until he closed his eyes and fell asleep. I pulled the blanket the blanket tightly around us, and curled up with my brother, in the corner of the small room. I heard something scurry by my ear, and I shut my eyes tightly, trying to convince myself it wasn't rats, and that I was safe and sound back in my home, just a few days ago.

This will be the 70th document I have posted on my profile. Thirty more makes 100.

Isn't that something? I'm so glad I found this website. Not only does it let me know what other people think of my stuff, and prepare me for when I want to publish my stories, it always makes me happy, because I meet such awesome people.

I hope this website never closes down. Or that if it does, it gives us all a few weeks notice, so we'll have the time to get our stories to safety.