I have a bunch of short stories laying around from a competition called power if the pen where I got to compete by writing on prompts. I decided to revise and post one if my favorites. I love supportive criticism! If you have any advice on how I can improve I love to hear it.

Prompt: The shell

(Crawl into or out of one in your story)

All children have protective shells. They're made if innocence and nativity. Eventually children outgrow their shells when they're 10 or so.

I left mine so much sooner.

Once upon a time I was a happy little girl. Yeah, sometimes Mom and dad yelled, but never at me, so I didn't really mind. I never really thought there was anything wrong without life, my shell protected me.

When I was six my shell became to small for the truth of reality.

One night when my parents went out and I was home with the babysitter. Instead of my parents my grandmother came over and asked my babysitter to leave.

She gave me a cookie to eat in bed, which I found odd. She hated crumbs. She stoked my hair gently, as if trying to comfort me, but I hadn't a clue why, "sweetie," she spoke in a voice gentler than her hand, "I have to tell you something, and I need you to be the big, strong girl I know you are. Ok?"

I don't think my grandmother liked her son much (or a least she didn't approve of my mother, his drinking and lack of education). She only really kept around for me, and had no problem taking me in when my parents died drunk driving.

My childhood shell may have become to small but she gladly provided me with a new one.

Once I started living with my grandmother I started realizing what my shell had stopped me from seeing: I'd never seen a doctor, I'd never tasted a healthy meal, I never felt new clothes.

My grandmother gave me all of those things, and though innocence was gone it was the best three years if my life. I made friends, went to the park, and had sleepovers like any other kid.

However my grandmother was already old and she died when I was nine.

And so once again I was forced to change homes, guardians, and my life , but this time for the worse. My mothers family consisted of her drunken elder brother, my useless twenty five year old cousin, and a silent wife who never spoke to anyone.

I did my best to hide in my shell, but it was battered again and again. My body was covered with bruises by the end of my first week there.

I couldn't stand to stay there, so I tried to run away, but the police caught me with in days. By then my bruises had mostly faded, and the police didn't believe me when I told them of my horrible new family.

And my shell was crushed. You see once a child leaves their first shell they usually get a new one. The new one is as strong as the old but made of completely different things. These new shells are made of things like love, illusions, and even lies. Mine was made of hope. When my parents died my grandmother gave me constant hope for something better, hope that all would turn out ok.

I'm all out of hope, my shell was crushed with that final blow, telling me that I'm stuck in hell with no way out. This time I have no protective shell to crawl into.