Friday was the day I went to my new foster home. It had been three weeks since the funerals and one week since I got my new arm. I was going to live with the Hudsons, their son was a friend of Aiden's so they "know" me. Smile and wave Madelyn, smile and wave. I'm still pissed that I even have to go to a foster home instead of living with Nada or Oliver but whatever I guess. Like, how is this even gonna work. I just go and live with complete strangers and not tell them anything about what happened to my family, or why I'm in foster care, or, hey, why my arm is missing. The last one could be fixed pretty easily by one, not letting them know that my arm is missing, or two, telling them that it was a surfing accident when I was younger. That always seems to work in movies, right? If they try to adopt me though I'm gonna kill all of them. As I'm packing my things I go through a mental checklist. Hygiene stuff? Check. Clothes? Check. Gun? Check. Knives? Check. Batons? Check. Pepper spray? Check. Go bag? (My bag with all my fake IDs and passports and wigs and things.) Check. Last but not least, violin? I contemplated for a moment before grabbing it if I could even use it. Then I thought screw it and grabbed it anyway. Check.
As I brought my stuff to the car I felt like someone was watching me again. I spun around and grabbed the knife I always kept tucked in my waistband. "Who's there?" I shouted. The bushes in the neighbor's yard rustled and a raccoon came out from it. Letting out a breath, I put my knife back and walked back to the house to say my goodbyes. Three hugs later I grabbed my phone and left. Oliver was acting as my case worker so he drove me to the Hudson's house. When the car pulled up to the curb beside their house I cased the front of the house. It was beige with a double garage and a garden out front, a poster house really. Not a blade of grass out of place, of course that's pretty suspicious for a place with kids. They must be trying to fake perfection, all families do, don't they? Families pretend to be perfect with their white picket fences and loving parents, but they're not, because that white picket fence was painted over dried blood and those loving parents hate each other so they take it out on the kids. Perfection is unattainable, by trying to get it you get further away. It's a never ending loop, nothing ever changes.
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The Queen Of Spades
ActionWhat do you get when you mix an orphaned teenage spy fighting Nazi assassins with the melodramatic high school life of Ellsworth, Maine? A bloody mess (literally). But what happens when civilians get caught in the cross hairs? And what will it take...
