A/N- this is my first Holes story, so if you have any suggestions, I am
open for them! Thank you!
Disclaimer- I do not own Holes, it all belongs to Louis Sachar
Chapter 1
Alan rolled over in bed, trying to drown out the screaming and shattering of glass down stairs. His drunken parents were at it again. It was the fifth time this week. He smothered his pillow against his ears, blocking out a portion of the now muffled cries. He stared over at his clock, 1:30 a.m., why wasn't this waking the neighbors up?
Giving up hope on the never ending fighting from his parents, he abandoned all tactics of getting his pillow to help, and let it fall back down to the cold bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling, going off into his own world for a moment; this sometimes helped him think when his parents were at it. If he had a problem, he would stare into space for a large amount of time, and just think.
This wasn't the first time his parents fought; they were constantly drunk, and would scream at each other for no reason at all. But, it all ended the same, they would decide that the fight had been Alan's fault, and probably punish him for making them fight. He was used to this as well, many times he would come home from school, and once he set foot into the house, an empty beer bottle would fly at his head, and his mother would scream something to him, and then Alan knew it was one of those days when he had to find refuge in the backyard shed.
He rolled over yet again. Or what about all those times when he would be thrown against the wall by his father while his mother sat on the dirty couch and watched, looking to drunk to even move. Oh yes, they would go all out on him this time. He sighed and closed his eyes, though, no matter how much it hurt, he never showed any emotion, and he would never.
~~*~~
It was Saturday morning, and as usual, Alan woke up early and got dressed, trying to beat his parents down stairs before they woke up too. That way, he could have whatever he wanted for breakfast, and leave the house to walk around the streets, or go and see a movie with a couple of stolen bucks from his mom's wallet.
He threw on a baggy shirt and some jeans, and walked quietly out of his room and down the stairs. It looked like they weren't awake yet; he figured they would be out for half the day. He walked over to the refrigerator, being careful not to step on any of the broken glass beneath his feet, and wrenched open the door.
Beer. That was pretty much all there ever was, any kind, you name it, it was there. He sighed and pushed some cases out of the way there was jelly, and two more eggs. He hated eggs, and the jelly didn't have a lid on it, so it was hard and gross looking. He quickly pushed those items aside. Cheese, an apple, and a stalk of celery,
"Well," he whispered to himself, "I guess there has to be some money in her purse." He closed the refrigerators door and walked over to a small black purse sitting forgotten on top of the table. Alan scavenged through it for a while, and concluded that his witty mom had spent the last of her purse money on something at the bar the previous night. He would probably get blamed for this too, she would say he was stealing it all again, and that he owed her money.
Alan shook his head and left the house. He would find something, he had before, and even stealing a little food wouldn't hurt him right now.
~~*~~
Alan sat down on a curb in an alley somewhere down town from his house. He silently sat and ate the sandwich he had stolen from the corner shop, he figured he had to, he kept telling himself that he would die of starvation, though, and this was also untrue, he had gone almost two days with out food when his mom and dad had left in the middle of the night, and hadn't returned for a total of three days, but that was when he was only eight, now he was sixteen, and his parents thought he was old enough to look out for himself, and would leave for weeks at a time. But the quiet was always nice.
Gulping down the rest of his sandwich, he leaned backwards, and rested himself on his forearms. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the peaceful morning, hardly anyone was awake yet, so it was quiet. He enjoyed the quiet, though it had been a while since it had been quiet for him.
~~*~~
"Where have you been?"
Alan walked through his front door later that night, half expecting his parents to still be out cold, but instead came face to face with his mother. She had a half full bottle of who knows what swinging by her side.
Alan closed the door behind him, and avoided her burning eyes, "I've been out." He mumbled. Just because he wouldn't show it, didn't mean that he wasn't afraid of his parents.
She started to laugh, "You've been out have you," her eyes sank deep through out her son's skin, "spending my money again?"
Alan sighed inside his head, it figured, now she would make up some outrageous number that he owed her, and demand it, or he would have to do chores around the house to pay it off, not that he never did any chores, in fact, he was always cleaning up after them.
"I wasn't spending your money mom." He said.
His father was sitting over on the couch in front of the t.v, smoking and drinking. He stood up and walked over to where the rest of his family was standing, "What is all this fuss over?" he asked smoke billowing out of his mouth.
Alan hated this; the environment that they surrounded him in, it was unbearable.
"Your stupid brat has been stealing my money again!" Alan's mom yelled.
Alan rolled his eyes, he was always being referred to as this, and sometimes he thought that they just forget his name. "I didn't take any of her money today." He said again.
"That is a lie," his mother protested, "I had twenty dollars in my purse before I left to the bar."
Alan then had forgotten to hold his tongue, "Yeah, because you spent it all buying your stupid alcohol, because you're a frikin drunk."
His father stared at him, and Alan now realized what he had said. His mother's face flushed, and she slapped him as hard as she could across the face, and he fell to the floor.
"Never say anything like that again to me," she said grabbing Alan's hair and pulling him back up to his feet, and making him stare into her eyes, "do you understand me?" she growled. The liquor was very strong on her breath, and made Alan want to gag.
"Yes ma'am." He muttered staring back down at the floor.
"Now get up to your room, and I don't want to see you again for the rest of the night!" she yelled, but Alan was all the way up the stairs and slamming his door shut by the time she had finished.
~~*~~
Alan immediately began to punch the wall once he entered his room, he had left dents in it from previous times, and punching the wall was a sort of comfort for him. Why was life like this? Why did he have to be cursed? Was it really his fault that his parents were always drunk? Did they ever love him? Questions were always going threw him, and he knew that if he didn't let it all out soon, he would have a breakdown.
He kicked the wall and walked over to him bed and massaged his sore reddening knuckles. His cheek was still slightly swollen, man did she hit hard. He remembered the first time she had ever hit him, it was when he was three. He had not made his bed that morning, and his mother was furious at him, and screamed for awhile, and then slapped him, hard, across the face.
He was breathing slowly, trying to get rid of all his anger; nothing ever helped though, not punching the wall, or his own thinking. Alan felt as if his mind was being corrupted, every time he looked at his parents, another memory would flood into his brain, and stay there.
Luckily Alan was on his summer vacation now, because that night he could not get to sleep. Tonight his parents were not yelling, but who knew what else they were doing. It was a sleepless night, every time sleep over took him, a nightmare was soon to follow, and he would wake up right before his father would grab his throat, or before his mother smashed a bottle on his head.
Most nights were like these, Alan was drenched in sweat by the time morning came, and he felt worse then he had the night before, when it hadn't been a dream, though no one cared, he himself was beginning to realize that it wasn't worth it any more. But his mind would clear before the afternoon, and he would feel better, he always did.
He sat up and pushed himself to the corner of his bed, and let his feet hang over the side. He yawned and stretched, and then noticed that he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. It really didn't matter, he figured he wouldn't leave today, maybe stay in his room, or wander into the dusty basement of the house.
Walking down the stairs, he heard noises coming from the kitchen and sighed knowing that his parents where up already, and he wouldn't be able to have sometime in there by himself.
Alan pushed open the door and saw only one of his parents, his mom, sitting at the table. She had her face buried in her arms, and she was sobbing uncontrollably. This was nothing new to Alan, and he merely brushed past her and made his way to the fridge.
Alan could tell that she was mumbling something between chocking sobs of tears.
More beer. Alan rolled his eyes at the great selection in his refrigerator, and closed the door. He turned around and faced his mother once again. He knew why she was crying, it was because of her alcohol addiction that made her do these things, he didn't need to ask her what was wrong, she might just scream at him.
"Are you going to go buy any food today?" Alan simply asked, as softly as he could, trying to not sound to desperate, other wise, she would not do any thing that would please him.
She just mumbled something about his father going to the store earlier that same morning, and continued to moan and cry.
Reluctantly Alan sat down at the table a few chairs down from his mom, the one closest to the door, just incase her spasm increased, and she began to throw stuff.
"How long ago did he leave?" he quietly asked drawing tiny circles on the dirty table with his finger.
His mom looked up at him; her mascara was running down her face, and her eyes were dark red from crying, "You never cared about stuff like that before, why are you askin' now?" her voice was high, and louder then normal.
"I was just wondering, usually Dad never goes to the store this early, and- " Alan was cut off by his mother.
"Are you saying that your father isn't at the store?" she yelled and slammed her fist down onto the table top.
"No, I was-"
"Keep quiet! You are always talkin', and I am ready to have your voice box removed!" She placed her head back onto her arms, and began to cry once more.
Alan stayed quiet. In fact, his mother didn't know what she was talking about; he was never talkative around his parents, or anyone else.
~~*~~
The day seemed to last forever; Alan's mom didn't stop crying, and just sat at the couch or locked herself in her room with alcohol to keep her company. But his dad never came home. He was beginning to think that he wouldn't for awhile, but then again, this kind of stuff happened all the time. His father would say he was going somewhere, and then show up with in a week. This time, Alan really didn't care if he would never come back.
Later that night, Alan walked down into the kitchen again, looking for any dinner, and saw his mother backed up against the wall, and his father standing very close to her, whispering things. She looked scared, and was crying. Alan paused in the doorway, neither parent taking a notice to their son's presence. His father was pinning her arms to the wall, as if to hold her there.
Alan didn't understand it, but something made him want to help his mother. And then when his dad slapped her across the face, Alan didn't even think about anything, he just acted.
"Get off of her!" he yelled and ran over to them and tried to pull his father off of her.
"What do you want boy?" His father yelled turning now onto Alan.
"Go up to your room Alan!" His mother screamed.
"I aint gonna let him hurt you!" Alan yelled back. Why was he doing this? They had never cared about not hurting him, so why was he caring about them?
"Stay out of this!" His father yelled and pushed Alan back.
Alan stumbled for a moment, but found his footing, and rebounded back against his father, "I said I aint gonna let you hurt her!" he yelled, and grabbed a chair from the table and threw it against his father's back.
His father fell to the floor, but quickly got up and turned once again to Alan, "Fine then, if you want me to hurt you instead."
Alan could tell his father was probably high, as well as drunk, he smelled strongly of smoke and liquor. He came at Alan, and began to push him backwards again. Alan kept stumbling backwards, and knew that he had to do something. He grabbed the nearest object from the table and threw it at his father; the bottle smashed into his head and broke, leaving a large cut in his forehead from the broken glass.
This made Alan's father even madder, and punched his son in the face. Alan fell to the ground, and felt blood begin to come out of his nose. He stood up again, he was not going to allow his father to get emotion out of him, and he would not show any sign of fear.
Alan turned to face his father again, and ducked as the drunken man made to punch him again. In return, Alan hit his father as hard as he could in the stomach, causing the man to double over and fall down.
Alan stood panting over his father as he lay on the floor. Then he rose to his feet once more and turned to Alan's mom, "Fine," He whispered harshly and walked to the door.
Alan's mom stood horror struck in the corner, and watched her husband leave, Alan just stared at him, still panting. The door slammed causing the screen door to fall off its hinges.
The two stood for a moment in silence, then Alan's mom began to cry once more, "What did you do?" she cried.
Alan turned to her, "I just helped you." He was looking incredulously at her.
"He may never come back, and it's all your fault!" she yelled.
Alan shook his head, "What are you saying, I just-" But he did not get to finish his sentence, because his mother then started to scream at him.
"Just get out of my house! You're a curse!" she grabbed a plate from the counter and threw it at him.
Alan ducked the first one, but a second plate was then thrown, and it hit his lip causing it to split open and start to bleed. He stumbled to the door, and wrenched it open as several cups flew in his direction.
"Never come back!" his mother yelled as Alan slid out of the door, and tumbled into the dead hard grass below.
The door slammed, and Alan was left in the cold night all alone. He could hear his mother screaming and crying from inside, and more glass breaking. He sighed and wiped the blood from his mouth and his noise off onto his sleeve.
Alan slowly got to his feet moments later, and began to walk away from the house, wondering about what he was going to do now. Then, he picked up a large stone from the ground and turned to face his house once more, and threw the stone as hard as he could at his parent's bedroom window, releasing all his anger on it, the window shattered instantly, but Alan didn't stay to hear his mother curse and scream as loud as she could, he ran away as fast as possible.
That was when his real trouble started; he had been living where ever he could for the past two weeks, and began breaking into stores, and stealing as much stuff as he could, mostly money. And he would steal food and money from people's houses when ever possible, in order to survive.
He never got caught though, until one day, he had just taken money from a house, and was leaving quietly, when at that moment, a police man went by the house and saw him escaping through the window, and grabbed him right when he got out, and began to question him.
Alan was sent to court, and sentenced to twenty four months at Camp Green Lake. A camp for troubled boys didn't sound too bad to him though, and he accepted the punishment.
Two days later, he was on the bus, heading to Camp green Lake.
A/N- Ok, that is it, I am not sure if I should leave it at that, or continue; I don't know what do you guys think? Is it a good ending? Please Review! (Kind of a quick ending, I know.)
Disclaimer- I do not own Holes, it all belongs to Louis Sachar
Chapter 1
Alan rolled over in bed, trying to drown out the screaming and shattering of glass down stairs. His drunken parents were at it again. It was the fifth time this week. He smothered his pillow against his ears, blocking out a portion of the now muffled cries. He stared over at his clock, 1:30 a.m., why wasn't this waking the neighbors up?
Giving up hope on the never ending fighting from his parents, he abandoned all tactics of getting his pillow to help, and let it fall back down to the cold bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling, going off into his own world for a moment; this sometimes helped him think when his parents were at it. If he had a problem, he would stare into space for a large amount of time, and just think.
This wasn't the first time his parents fought; they were constantly drunk, and would scream at each other for no reason at all. But, it all ended the same, they would decide that the fight had been Alan's fault, and probably punish him for making them fight. He was used to this as well, many times he would come home from school, and once he set foot into the house, an empty beer bottle would fly at his head, and his mother would scream something to him, and then Alan knew it was one of those days when he had to find refuge in the backyard shed.
He rolled over yet again. Or what about all those times when he would be thrown against the wall by his father while his mother sat on the dirty couch and watched, looking to drunk to even move. Oh yes, they would go all out on him this time. He sighed and closed his eyes, though, no matter how much it hurt, he never showed any emotion, and he would never.
~~*~~
It was Saturday morning, and as usual, Alan woke up early and got dressed, trying to beat his parents down stairs before they woke up too. That way, he could have whatever he wanted for breakfast, and leave the house to walk around the streets, or go and see a movie with a couple of stolen bucks from his mom's wallet.
He threw on a baggy shirt and some jeans, and walked quietly out of his room and down the stairs. It looked like they weren't awake yet; he figured they would be out for half the day. He walked over to the refrigerator, being careful not to step on any of the broken glass beneath his feet, and wrenched open the door.
Beer. That was pretty much all there ever was, any kind, you name it, it was there. He sighed and pushed some cases out of the way there was jelly, and two more eggs. He hated eggs, and the jelly didn't have a lid on it, so it was hard and gross looking. He quickly pushed those items aside. Cheese, an apple, and a stalk of celery,
"Well," he whispered to himself, "I guess there has to be some money in her purse." He closed the refrigerators door and walked over to a small black purse sitting forgotten on top of the table. Alan scavenged through it for a while, and concluded that his witty mom had spent the last of her purse money on something at the bar the previous night. He would probably get blamed for this too, she would say he was stealing it all again, and that he owed her money.
Alan shook his head and left the house. He would find something, he had before, and even stealing a little food wouldn't hurt him right now.
~~*~~
Alan sat down on a curb in an alley somewhere down town from his house. He silently sat and ate the sandwich he had stolen from the corner shop, he figured he had to, he kept telling himself that he would die of starvation, though, and this was also untrue, he had gone almost two days with out food when his mom and dad had left in the middle of the night, and hadn't returned for a total of three days, but that was when he was only eight, now he was sixteen, and his parents thought he was old enough to look out for himself, and would leave for weeks at a time. But the quiet was always nice.
Gulping down the rest of his sandwich, he leaned backwards, and rested himself on his forearms. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the peaceful morning, hardly anyone was awake yet, so it was quiet. He enjoyed the quiet, though it had been a while since it had been quiet for him.
~~*~~
"Where have you been?"
Alan walked through his front door later that night, half expecting his parents to still be out cold, but instead came face to face with his mother. She had a half full bottle of who knows what swinging by her side.
Alan closed the door behind him, and avoided her burning eyes, "I've been out." He mumbled. Just because he wouldn't show it, didn't mean that he wasn't afraid of his parents.
She started to laugh, "You've been out have you," her eyes sank deep through out her son's skin, "spending my money again?"
Alan sighed inside his head, it figured, now she would make up some outrageous number that he owed her, and demand it, or he would have to do chores around the house to pay it off, not that he never did any chores, in fact, he was always cleaning up after them.
"I wasn't spending your money mom." He said.
His father was sitting over on the couch in front of the t.v, smoking and drinking. He stood up and walked over to where the rest of his family was standing, "What is all this fuss over?" he asked smoke billowing out of his mouth.
Alan hated this; the environment that they surrounded him in, it was unbearable.
"Your stupid brat has been stealing my money again!" Alan's mom yelled.
Alan rolled his eyes, he was always being referred to as this, and sometimes he thought that they just forget his name. "I didn't take any of her money today." He said again.
"That is a lie," his mother protested, "I had twenty dollars in my purse before I left to the bar."
Alan then had forgotten to hold his tongue, "Yeah, because you spent it all buying your stupid alcohol, because you're a frikin drunk."
His father stared at him, and Alan now realized what he had said. His mother's face flushed, and she slapped him as hard as she could across the face, and he fell to the floor.
"Never say anything like that again to me," she said grabbing Alan's hair and pulling him back up to his feet, and making him stare into her eyes, "do you understand me?" she growled. The liquor was very strong on her breath, and made Alan want to gag.
"Yes ma'am." He muttered staring back down at the floor.
"Now get up to your room, and I don't want to see you again for the rest of the night!" she yelled, but Alan was all the way up the stairs and slamming his door shut by the time she had finished.
~~*~~
Alan immediately began to punch the wall once he entered his room, he had left dents in it from previous times, and punching the wall was a sort of comfort for him. Why was life like this? Why did he have to be cursed? Was it really his fault that his parents were always drunk? Did they ever love him? Questions were always going threw him, and he knew that if he didn't let it all out soon, he would have a breakdown.
He kicked the wall and walked over to him bed and massaged his sore reddening knuckles. His cheek was still slightly swollen, man did she hit hard. He remembered the first time she had ever hit him, it was when he was three. He had not made his bed that morning, and his mother was furious at him, and screamed for awhile, and then slapped him, hard, across the face.
He was breathing slowly, trying to get rid of all his anger; nothing ever helped though, not punching the wall, or his own thinking. Alan felt as if his mind was being corrupted, every time he looked at his parents, another memory would flood into his brain, and stay there.
Luckily Alan was on his summer vacation now, because that night he could not get to sleep. Tonight his parents were not yelling, but who knew what else they were doing. It was a sleepless night, every time sleep over took him, a nightmare was soon to follow, and he would wake up right before his father would grab his throat, or before his mother smashed a bottle on his head.
Most nights were like these, Alan was drenched in sweat by the time morning came, and he felt worse then he had the night before, when it hadn't been a dream, though no one cared, he himself was beginning to realize that it wasn't worth it any more. But his mind would clear before the afternoon, and he would feel better, he always did.
He sat up and pushed himself to the corner of his bed, and let his feet hang over the side. He yawned and stretched, and then noticed that he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. It really didn't matter, he figured he wouldn't leave today, maybe stay in his room, or wander into the dusty basement of the house.
Walking down the stairs, he heard noises coming from the kitchen and sighed knowing that his parents where up already, and he wouldn't be able to have sometime in there by himself.
Alan pushed open the door and saw only one of his parents, his mom, sitting at the table. She had her face buried in her arms, and she was sobbing uncontrollably. This was nothing new to Alan, and he merely brushed past her and made his way to the fridge.
Alan could tell that she was mumbling something between chocking sobs of tears.
More beer. Alan rolled his eyes at the great selection in his refrigerator, and closed the door. He turned around and faced his mother once again. He knew why she was crying, it was because of her alcohol addiction that made her do these things, he didn't need to ask her what was wrong, she might just scream at him.
"Are you going to go buy any food today?" Alan simply asked, as softly as he could, trying to not sound to desperate, other wise, she would not do any thing that would please him.
She just mumbled something about his father going to the store earlier that same morning, and continued to moan and cry.
Reluctantly Alan sat down at the table a few chairs down from his mom, the one closest to the door, just incase her spasm increased, and she began to throw stuff.
"How long ago did he leave?" he quietly asked drawing tiny circles on the dirty table with his finger.
His mom looked up at him; her mascara was running down her face, and her eyes were dark red from crying, "You never cared about stuff like that before, why are you askin' now?" her voice was high, and louder then normal.
"I was just wondering, usually Dad never goes to the store this early, and- " Alan was cut off by his mother.
"Are you saying that your father isn't at the store?" she yelled and slammed her fist down onto the table top.
"No, I was-"
"Keep quiet! You are always talkin', and I am ready to have your voice box removed!" She placed her head back onto her arms, and began to cry once more.
Alan stayed quiet. In fact, his mother didn't know what she was talking about; he was never talkative around his parents, or anyone else.
~~*~~
The day seemed to last forever; Alan's mom didn't stop crying, and just sat at the couch or locked herself in her room with alcohol to keep her company. But his dad never came home. He was beginning to think that he wouldn't for awhile, but then again, this kind of stuff happened all the time. His father would say he was going somewhere, and then show up with in a week. This time, Alan really didn't care if he would never come back.
Later that night, Alan walked down into the kitchen again, looking for any dinner, and saw his mother backed up against the wall, and his father standing very close to her, whispering things. She looked scared, and was crying. Alan paused in the doorway, neither parent taking a notice to their son's presence. His father was pinning her arms to the wall, as if to hold her there.
Alan didn't understand it, but something made him want to help his mother. And then when his dad slapped her across the face, Alan didn't even think about anything, he just acted.
"Get off of her!" he yelled and ran over to them and tried to pull his father off of her.
"What do you want boy?" His father yelled turning now onto Alan.
"Go up to your room Alan!" His mother screamed.
"I aint gonna let him hurt you!" Alan yelled back. Why was he doing this? They had never cared about not hurting him, so why was he caring about them?
"Stay out of this!" His father yelled and pushed Alan back.
Alan stumbled for a moment, but found his footing, and rebounded back against his father, "I said I aint gonna let you hurt her!" he yelled, and grabbed a chair from the table and threw it against his father's back.
His father fell to the floor, but quickly got up and turned once again to Alan, "Fine then, if you want me to hurt you instead."
Alan could tell his father was probably high, as well as drunk, he smelled strongly of smoke and liquor. He came at Alan, and began to push him backwards again. Alan kept stumbling backwards, and knew that he had to do something. He grabbed the nearest object from the table and threw it at his father; the bottle smashed into his head and broke, leaving a large cut in his forehead from the broken glass.
This made Alan's father even madder, and punched his son in the face. Alan fell to the ground, and felt blood begin to come out of his nose. He stood up again, he was not going to allow his father to get emotion out of him, and he would not show any sign of fear.
Alan turned to face his father again, and ducked as the drunken man made to punch him again. In return, Alan hit his father as hard as he could in the stomach, causing the man to double over and fall down.
Alan stood panting over his father as he lay on the floor. Then he rose to his feet once more and turned to Alan's mom, "Fine," He whispered harshly and walked to the door.
Alan's mom stood horror struck in the corner, and watched her husband leave, Alan just stared at him, still panting. The door slammed causing the screen door to fall off its hinges.
The two stood for a moment in silence, then Alan's mom began to cry once more, "What did you do?" she cried.
Alan turned to her, "I just helped you." He was looking incredulously at her.
"He may never come back, and it's all your fault!" she yelled.
Alan shook his head, "What are you saying, I just-" But he did not get to finish his sentence, because his mother then started to scream at him.
"Just get out of my house! You're a curse!" she grabbed a plate from the counter and threw it at him.
Alan ducked the first one, but a second plate was then thrown, and it hit his lip causing it to split open and start to bleed. He stumbled to the door, and wrenched it open as several cups flew in his direction.
"Never come back!" his mother yelled as Alan slid out of the door, and tumbled into the dead hard grass below.
The door slammed, and Alan was left in the cold night all alone. He could hear his mother screaming and crying from inside, and more glass breaking. He sighed and wiped the blood from his mouth and his noise off onto his sleeve.
Alan slowly got to his feet moments later, and began to walk away from the house, wondering about what he was going to do now. Then, he picked up a large stone from the ground and turned to face his house once more, and threw the stone as hard as he could at his parent's bedroom window, releasing all his anger on it, the window shattered instantly, but Alan didn't stay to hear his mother curse and scream as loud as she could, he ran away as fast as possible.
That was when his real trouble started; he had been living where ever he could for the past two weeks, and began breaking into stores, and stealing as much stuff as he could, mostly money. And he would steal food and money from people's houses when ever possible, in order to survive.
He never got caught though, until one day, he had just taken money from a house, and was leaving quietly, when at that moment, a police man went by the house and saw him escaping through the window, and grabbed him right when he got out, and began to question him.
Alan was sent to court, and sentenced to twenty four months at Camp Green Lake. A camp for troubled boys didn't sound too bad to him though, and he accepted the punishment.
Two days later, he was on the bus, heading to Camp green Lake.
A/N- Ok, that is it, I am not sure if I should leave it at that, or continue; I don't know what do you guys think? Is it a good ending? Please Review! (Kind of a quick ending, I know.)