Everything Unfamiliar

I.

Eight years old, pulled from the grasp of my father's arms and led like a domesticated dog to countless foreign cars and unfamiliar run-down buildings; all with the same indistinguishable smell that I eventually became accustomed to. Questioned by grown-ups who previously, in the wild, exhibited a stern look that never seemed to depart, but suddenly showcased a sorrowful demeanor. Pity, and what seemed like frustration plastered on their worn, tired faces. Equipped with navy blue uniforms, which were occasionally accompanied by sparkling gold badges, or business-like attire. Grown-ups who wouldn't tell me what was happening or where I was going. Who Instead commonly resorted to furrowing their brows and taking a deep troubled breath with any questions of mine, and yet they expected me to answer their own tiring interrogation as effortlessly as writing my name. Hushed conversations just feet away from me in white-bricked rooms, usually with blinding fluorescents that whirred and flickered softly. A single table for the older ones to sit and ask me, for hours on end, repetitive heavy questions no child should have to consider. Eight-year-old me furiously coloring with the crayons they provided to avoid their silly inquiries about my life back at my old home. The adults, unfamiliar to me, throwing an occasional sideways glance at one another and writing on their clipboards critically. I was constantly shoved into new surroundings in which I was foreign, some of them more welcoming than others, and yet I never belonged. A single dandelion in a field of tulips labeled as a weed. Ever since I turned eight, I've been wedged in the quicksand of foster care, slowly sinking to my inevitable downfall. Each day a different variation of the last, now blending together as seamless as the soft colors displayed in a sunset. As the years pass, my dreams of one day finding a place that I am able to call home slowly fade into nothingness, and I feel I'm descending into a black hole that I am unable to emerge from.