She was born in Maine.

The sky was dark and the clouds gray, rolling

over a quietly sleeping town. Not a single bird chirped. There was
no breeze. Snow drifted silently, bestowing on the town its
backstabbing spell of cold and dreary days. Snow was fun at first
to the children in the town. After a couple weeks, it became
unbearable. Citizens stayed in their houses, shutting out the
warmth of neighbors. The streetlights had long burned out and
frozen over. The world seemed almost dead. The baby girl that had
been tossed out on the street hours ago seemed dead as well. Her
crystal gray eyes had long shut, the warmth in her cheeks faded.
Her lips were blue by the time someone took the courtesy of brining
her inside and giving her a blanket that wasn't a rag thrown over
her in a hurry. A couple hours beforehand, she had been born,
called a demon baby, and cast out to her nearly certain doom.
The girl's name was Gwendolyn DeSantis. She stayed with the
family for a short time, but even they realized they could not
handle the girl. The reason the first family had thrown her away
was was the same. She would change her positions within short
periods of time or disappear for hours on end. To where? Nobody
knew, and nobody ever would for a very long time. She didn't know
herself, but she would. The family sent her on her way when she was
nine.
"Where do I go?" She asked. Her step brother looked at her
with disdain.
"You're too confusing," Sebastian said. "When you leave like
that, and nobody knows where you're going, it's infuriating! You're
so stupid, Gwen. You know that?"
"I asked where, not why," she said. Gwen had no further
response because she had gotten to the point at which, when people
told her enough times that she was stupid, she believed them. In
the back of her mind, she knew that she had no reason for her
actions. She only remembered blanking out and coming to a few days
later seeing her family standing over her with yet another doctor.
This is why she left willingly and without further question. With
her suitcase, she made her way down the street, only stopping when
her favorite brother, Charlie, stopped her. He was five years older
than her and looked nothing like her. She had dark brown hair and
olive skin. He, like everyone else in the family, had straight
blonde hair that glinted in the sunlight.
"Gwen!" He called. She turned around, squinting into the
sunlight. He had been the kindest one to her, and she, throughout
her life, knowing that she did not belong, had tried not to get
close to him in fear that she would lose him.
"Yeah?" She mumbled, not daring to look into his hazel eyes.
"I'll miss you, that's all."
"Of course you will, won't you?" Gwen turned away.
"Hey- if it makes you feel better, I believe you." Gwen turned
back around after walking a few paces, a small smile tugging at her

lips.

"You do?"
"I do. I know you don't have answers. And between us, I'm
jealous of whatever's...wrong with you. Sometimes I need an escape.
I won't forget you, Gwen. Maybe I'll run into you someday."
"If I'm still alive."
"I think your mind goes somewhere else. That's all. It's
nothing you can help." Charlie hesitated, and then pulled her to
him. Gwen sighed into his chest, not daring to cry.
"Thank you for believing me, but I have to go. I don't belong
here."
"Then where do you?"
"I don't know! All I know is that I'm stupid. I'm too stupid
to live my life normally, so I shouldn't even try. I'll just find
somewhere to stay until I rot." With that, Gwen trudged away,
leaving Charlie with a single tear in his eye. She thought she
would never hear his voice again, but she did.
"Try! Promise me that you'll try!" She heard him call after
her. His voice haunted her for a long time. It kept her from losing
touch with the world for a while. But when she forgot his voice,
she lost herself with it, and the forsaken curse returned. Luckily
not as strongly as before.
"I need my tea, right now, or I will sue this time! I'll sue
all of you. I'm on in five. How am I supposed to sing with this
voice? It's like there are little insects crawling around in my
throat. What am I supposed to do?"
"Miss, you'll be fine. They can't make it any more quickly
and-"
"This is the final straw, I swear to God!" Samantha Bagwell
rushed to the tall mirror in the corner of the room, heels
clicking, and stared at herself obsessively for three seconds
before screaming. "You used the wrong shade of lipstick. Fix it, I
look like something a dog stepped in," she demanded, stomping back
to her makeup artist.
"Ma'am, you certainly do not look like something a dog stepped
in," Ms. Harmony replied. But nevertheless, she did her job and sat
back, rubbing her forehead. Samantha huffed. Her brown curls framed
her face like a mane.
"I'm going on. Wish me luck," she added. She smiled brightly at
Ms. Harmony. "Like I'll need it. My stylists are absolutely
brilliant."
Ms. Harmony smiled half-heartedly at Samantha's sudden breaking
of telling everyone everything he or she did was wrong. As Samantha
marched through the curtains triumphantly, the other stylists
finally entered the room.
"She's firing all of you," Ms. Harmony laughed, relaxing into
the seat.
"She is such a diva, my Lord," Mrs. Shields muttered. "God help

me to say this, but it would be quite a relief to rid of her. I

mean, you still have to deal with her. But I won't have to," she
smirked at Ms. Harmony, who rolled her eyes.
"I feel bad for her." Mr. Monroe contradicted. "She has no
parents, as far as we know. Where did she come from?"
"I've known her since she was twelve." Ms. Harmony sighed. "She
came knocking on my door, she had seen my sign, and demanded that
we let her audition. I liked her at first...but my God has she
become insane."
"At least I don't have to live with her," Mrs. Shields laughed,
setting down Samantha's tea on the makeup counter.
"What if she never had parents?" Mr. Monroe parted the curtain
slightly in the left wing, watching Samantha perform. "She was
never taught manners."
"Well, why don't you try adopting her? I'll gladly hand her
over."
"What's so terrible about her?" Mr. Monroe scowled. "She seems
pretty stable." Mrs. Shield's mouth hung open. Ms. Harmony raised
her eyebrows.
"You haven't heard, have you?" Mrs. Shields laughed. "My God,
tell him Harmony."
Ms. Harmony sighed, shifting her weight in her chair. "I
believe she has a different mind set."
"Mindset?"
"Yes, mindset. You see, sometimes I'll just lose her."
"You mean ...she lives in a separate universe in her head?"
"No. She legitimately disappears for a few days...she always
comes back, but when she comes back, it's as if..." Ms. Harmony
stopped. "No, I shan't say anymore." Mrs. Shields sighed.
"You can tell us, Harmony. We know Sam better than anyone."
"That's the thing, Emily- I don't think any of us really know
her."
"Why so?" Mr. Monroe frowned.
"She doesn't realize she disappears. She thinks she's present
the whole time. Like no time has passed at all." There was a bit of
silence as Ms. Harmony let that sink in.
"How strange..." Mr. Monroe seemed to say to himself. The three
sat, looking at one another and wondering how this could be so.
That was what Samantha walked in to.
She crossed her arms. "How am I supposed to feel that I did
well outside when you three didn't even watch me? How? The three
people I'm closest to, you all can't even stand me enough to watch
my performance, and how am I supposed to perform in the future when
I know you don't support me?!" She sank down and began to sob
uncontrollably.
Mrs. Shields sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Miss, we
did watch you."
"We have your tea." Mr. Monroe offered.
"I don't want it now!" Samantha cried. Ms. Harmony stood up and

helped Samantha sit back against a wall, handing her a bottle of

water. Samantha drank it. The three waited as Samantha calmed down,
her face turning from red back to it's normal color. She smiled
suddenly. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. Let's go out for lunch?" She
suggested.
Mrs. Shields glanced at Ms. Harmony and shook her head. "I
can't," she replied. "I have work to do."
Before Mr. Monroe could decline, Ms. Harmony prodded him with
her elbow and said, "a nice idea. You will be coming?" She looked
pointedly at Mr. Monroe, who sighed.
"I suppose." He mumbled. After Samantha strode out of the room
exclaiming how marvelous she was at her performance, Mr. Monroe
shot a glare at Ms. Harmony, who shrugged.
"Good luck," Mrs. Shields grinned icily.
"I'm not worried," replied Ms. Harmony. "She'll be gone within
the next hour anyways."
And she was right, for as Ms. Harmony and Mr. Monroe exited the
building and walked arm in arm through Manhattan, Samantha Bagwell
was nowhere to be seen.
On the corner of Manhattan was a wide bridge. It was a
frequently used bridge. The girl that lived underneath it was an
orphan. She slept at night on a grassy patch shielded by the
cement. She had grown accustomed to the sound of cars overhead and
the river rushing below. The river didn't scare her. She had fallen
in once to find that it was very shallow. She could swim. She had
taught herself when she was eleven. She couldn't remember her
parents, so she had long trained her mind to refuse the fact that
she ever had any. Every day, early in the morning when less cars
drove around, she would climb out from her spot under the bridge
and walk to the city. On some rare occasions, people would
recognize her at the marketplace. There was a certain middle-aged
baked she would stay with during the day. But only one some days.
On the other days, he missed her company.
"Good morning, Alexandra," the cheerful man always greeted her.
This morning was no different. Alexandra found his shop, replied
"Good day, sir," to his greeting, and accepted the slice of cake he
offered. This had been a tradition for many years now. She had
first found the bakery inviting during a cold winter. She had been
sitting on the corner of two stores, thinking her life was
practically over, when the baker exited his shop and felt sorry for
her. He offered her bread and water and let her talk about the
things she wanted in life. Now they would talk about the most
peculiar things. The lady with the crazy hat that always came in
once a week. The man who performed magic tricks on the city square.
He had taught her how to bake when she was 15 and let her help him
on busy days. Whenever she was with him was the only time she ever
laughed. Today was no exception.

"I want you to work for me. I'm in dire need of an assistant.
I'll pay you," the man offered. "I can provide your apron as well."
He knew about her bridge, that she was homeless, and that she
needed the money.
"For real?" Alexandra laughed. "You would do that?" She didn't
believe him, but as the man offered her 200 dollars, she gasped in
surprise. "But why? Nobody else thinks I could be of assistance.
I'm too young."
"15 is nearly 20!" The man chuckled. Alexandra smiled. She
wasn't exactly sure how old she was, but that was how she looked,
so that was what they had concluded. They celebrated her birthday
every year with a cake. "Take the money. Perhaps I can find you a
place to stay as well. There's an empty apartment near where I
live."
"That would be amazing!" Alexandra beamed.
"You'll need more money, of course. I don't think your work
here will be quite enough."
Alexandra suddenly looked sullen. "I don't know if I can do
that," she said earnestly.
"Sing for the people. They love entertainment. I've heard you.
You're talented. They might even mistake you for someone..." he
frowned. "No, never mind. It can't be."
"Who?" Alexandra asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she
locked up the bakery.
"Well, some people who come here regularly and know you have
pointed out that you look very similar to a certain Broadway star
called Samantha Bagwell. No relation, I suppose?"
"I don't even know her," Alexandra continued to wipe off the
table she had been cleaning. "I'd best get on my way. The cars
don't pay attention at night." With that, she smiled and walked out
into the streets where she thought she belonged.
Gwendolyn was sixteen. By the time she had turned ten, she had
been placed into foster care. By the time she was thirteen, she had
run away. She had lived on her own for three years. She lived now
by herself with only the company of her best friend Theodore.
Theodore was the cousin of the

Alyssa Johnson was a hurrying, strict girl. When she turned 14,
she knew she would be successful. She had no parents, as far as she
remembered. But when a certain lady took her in, she was invited
into the advertising corporation. Her talent surprised the adults,
and they knew she would be the owner of the company in not too
many years as well as she did. Her self-confidence was what
motivated her.