The hot sun beat down on Janes head as she walked along the dusty country road, the sweat beading on her grime-stained forehead.

Her clothes were thin and threadbare, and her feet were blistered and calloused from walking long miles.

She was a runaway, having found herself in the poor countryside, with nothing but the clothes on her back and a small sack of meager possessions.

It wasn't a choice.

With a drunken foster dad and a house full of flies and grimy kids, she had to go.

And at only twelve, she didn't have a lot of options.

The landscape around her was bleak and barren, with the occasional cow or goat staring at her blankly from a dusty field.

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching engine broken the silence, and she turned to see a beat-up pickup truck slowly approaching.

It came to a stop right beside her on the dirt road, a cloud of dust swirling up in its wake.

She squinted through the dust cloud, trying to see who could be behind the wheel.