She never knew where she came from. All she could remember, from the earliest of her life, was hopping from foster home to foster home.. being rejected by every single family that held her in their arms. Will she ever find out who she once was, or will she be cursed to live out her days lost, confused, and longing for her past self to pull her back to who she once was?
It has been 53 days since I last saw my foster home. This felt weird. Not weird to be out of here.. I've tried to run away before. Just weird.. in general. The last time I ran away from my foster home, I was found twenty three days later. It has now been fifty three. Did those foster parents just forget all about me? Not that I would be bummed out about that. God, please have let them forgotten all about me. If it meant they'd never once try to find me again, I'll become a ghost to them. My plan actually felt as if it was going to work this time. You can't tell since you don't technically have eyes, journal, but I happen to be smiling from ear to ear. You may think that this, running away from my foster home, is an everyday occurrence for me but I cannot help it. I may actually succeed at my chance for freedom. Maybe if all those big shots placing kids in random homes actually gave a shit about the foster children they place, I would've found the best home with loving parents who actually wanted a child and not just the paycheck that came with us. Maybe then.. I would've stayed put. But that never happened. Ever.
On this episode in foster hell, my dipshit of a foster dad decided that he'd invite his good ole buddy over for a poker game; except instead of playing an actual poker game for cash, he figured he may as well just place bets on me instead. When the game first started, he placed bets on whether or not I had to hand the creep of a friend my clothing, piece by piece. As the game continued on, though, he was placing bets on the bigger picture; I felt almost as if I had been sold for parts. At least I can proceed with my life knowing that I was probably that guy's first teenage girl to have given him a swift kick in the balls. That was a pretty iconic moment, journal. Trust me. It felt quite satisfying just watching him cower to the ground as he wailed out in pain. Of course my foster parents didn't take pleasure in it. My foster dad reacted by smacking me so hard my entire body smashed into the wall behind us. My foster mom had taken a brief "walk" from the second the creep of a friend first arrived at the house. I should've known something was seriously up considering that she was actually have an affair with him anyway. I use the term affair gently. My foster dad knew exactly what had been going on.. the fact that they never stopped after he found out always seemed to intrigue me in some kind of way. It was almost as if I lived inside a real life soap opera and they were the stars. Why would she have suddenly been so ashamed to be around the friend? If only I would've known then. Ironically, by the time she got back, the social worker had already been called and was on her way to take care of the "extremely violent teenage girl" who had been placed with them. Of course the social worker never learned what had occurred before I just automatically turned violent.
I never did get to see if my social worker was actually on her way or not. I had left before they ever had a chance to even consider sending me back.
I wrote this story a long time ago and hit a huge writer's block so I have just decided to just upload this as is instead of letting it sit in my drafts for years.. or worse; deleting the story all together.
So enjoy this little short story and if you like my writings, don't forget to subscribe and check out my other stories/articles.