Strangers and Demons

Prologue

I was at the ripe age of six, the age of imagination, new beginnings, and recently found interests. Smiles would beam from my face day to day, life was valuable. Towards the late months of the year, I would hear loud noises in the night. The sounds of breaking glass and loud thuds to the floor, sometimes so violent it would shake the floor.  On one these quaking nights, I moseyed along the staircase, peering into the kitchen I saw my mother on the floor, crawling towards me, looking up I see my father, beer in hand, dragging her back. Not a moment went by before they notice my glaring teary eyes, my father immediately throws the beer from his hand towards me barely missing my face and breaking on my shoulder. I remember looking down to my onesie being covered in blood on my left side, worried my Mother cries out to me to get away and run to the neighbor's house. Soon after the neighbors called the police and my Father was taken away. All I remember of that time is how depressed my Mother was, she cried every day in the shower, hoping I wouldn't notice. She wore a smile like a mask. When he got out of jail, my mom became happier, constantly on the phone with someone and soon enough my Dad was back home. He urgently made plans for a vacation. I guess he had hoped it would make things better. So we packed up and went along for his planned 3-week adventure. Though 2 days in on our drive, my Father got a call. It was from another woman. My Mother kept grabbing the phone from him insisting he tell her who it was. That's when he lost control and we swerved right into a tree. They died on impact, me, I had a broken arm and got a large cut on my cheek, nothing compared to the pain of losing them. I was trapped in the car, the seatbelt jammed itself and there wasn't any way I could just slip out and go out from the door, the car was flipped on its right side where I was. So I sat there, crying for hours until someone finally found us and called 911. It took them what seemed like forever to arrive. They flipped the car over first and of course, checked for survivors. They got me out first, tended to my wounds, as I watched my parents' lifeless bodies being pulled out from the wreckage. My father's skull had collapsed inwards, his brains oozing over the ambulance woman's arms, like spoiled porridge. My mother's eyes were left open in shock and terror, even after she passed away. Shards of glass were embedded in her face, tearing open her cheek and disconnecting her jaw. They were long gone, but part of me wished they were still alive.

A few years after the incident, my Grandparents fought for custody of me. Unlucky for me, my grandparents won. Those pigs had treated me like scum for all my life, so why did they want custody now? What would they gain from it? Perhaps, I thought, they wanted to keep me locked up, so that I could suffer more. It wouldn't be unrealistic, knowing how they despised me. To them, I was symbolic of their daughter's failures, the epitome of the sins of my mother. How ironic that I hadn't done anything yet.

A few weeks after court I was forced to move in with them, and I already knew that living with them would be a slow, bleak hell. I would decay, under their care. My soul would rot, like something that should have been dead from the start.

From day one they would abuse me. Well, Grandfather would. Grandma didn't know what he did to me at night, and nobody ever will. They would probably think I was gay or something. I didn't need that kind of torment from the boys at school. I knew what they did to them, so I kept my mouth shut. Even though I wasn't, I knew they would never believe me. The boys already made fun of me to due to the fact my parent's died. They would taunt, "You're so pathetic that I bet even your parents are happy they are dead!" and I would constantly get beaten up. My Grandparents didn't seem to care much, I suppose they thought I deserved it too. I knew nobody was there for me, so I toughened up. The world is full of darkness, and the only way to protect yourself is to supply your own light. Or to become indifferent to the pain. It's not easy to ignore it, but after too long you get used to it.

After putting up with it for so long, one day I decided to run away. Nobody came looking for me, I was all alone, for weeks, till the cops found me. They didn't know where I belonged, so of course, they asked many series of questions. I just told them that I belonged to no one, so they picked me up and took me to a foster care facility.

I got more and more rebellious over the years. I started to sneak out, smoke, steal, I was over all that happy stuff. There was none in my world. I figured that I might as well live while I can. Plus, there was a certain rush involved with theft, something that you can't get anywhere else. At first, my face was plastered on utility poles and on the news, but I got better, learned how to hide my identity, and they eventually forgot about me.

During the whole fiasco, I kept getting fostered, but in the end, nobody kept me longer than three months. I didn't mind, though, I knew that I could make it on my own as I always have. That's when I decided to escape the facilities and live on my own on the streets