Birth Right

Life couldn't get worse. Could it?

Chapter 2

                For the two years after my Dad’s death, I was placed in care. For the next two years I was passed from one grotty care home to another. I just accepted this was now my way of life. I saved money where I could for the hope of living a better life. I tried to survive the tedium of school and tried to act normal at any cost. I couldn’t let my abilities show. Kids are harsh enough as it is to those fairly normal, never mind a freak like me. I seemed to manage fine for two years. In my head, I believed I could act normal, have a normal life. For once I believed I could pretend not to be a freak. How naïve was I.            

                I had just been moved to a new care home in East London. I looked at it. It was huge like a mansion. Ivy crept up the walls encircling it. It was old and should have look historical and pretty but I couldn’t seem to shake the sense of dread as I stepped closer with my backpack, a small suitcase and my small delicate box clutched in my hands. The whole place left me uneasy.  I thought it was odd finding a place such as this in East London more than odd. It was freaky. I felt like running and taking to the streets. I could feel things would go wrong here.          

                For the first few days, things seemed to be just fine. I made a friend. Her name was Scarlett. She was 13 as well and was a really girly girl. She had deep dark brown eyes and short edgy black hair which matched her petite figure. When I first saw her bedroom I nearly passed out. It was a pink overload. Even though we were really different we got on so well. She actually liked me. She was someone I could actually talk to. I really felt like I had a friend. However, from day one I seemed to have a target on my head.

                There were three girls, Jade, Sophie and Becky. They picked on me as soon as I got there. They saw me as an outsider. They pretended to be this kind of tough hard gang where every child in the care home would have to be kind to them and appreciate them or else. They didn’t know anything about me. I kept information to myself. They saw me as a mystery but an unpleasant one at that. I wanted to keep my horror of a past behind me. They never accepted that. They wanted to know who they were dealing with. They knew there was something that the care workers were deliberately trying to hide, something about me. I was already their enemy.

                They bullied me constantly. They never could seem to leave me alone or accept me. Luckily, not all of my time spent there was bad. After my first week there, I explored at the bottom of the garden and found a tree house hidden in the line of trees that seemed to defend the house. I climbed up into the house and knew that no one else had discovered it. I shared my discovery with Scarlett and it wasn’t long before we began to decorate it out. We used the rugs in our bedrooms to create a carpet and snuck pillows from around the house into it so we were comfortable. We even stole wood paint from the shed and painted the inside to give it a brighter feel. After it was complete, we knew this would be a safe haven from our troubles in the house. I can’t remember the countless days and evenings we spent up in the tree house. The main care worker knew about the tree house and he kept it secret for us. He was a slim man in his late 20’s with a clean shaven face. Secretly, he felt guilty for me after reading my files which is why he never told the other children of the tree house. I respected him for that.

                Apart from the usual name calling from the Gang, life wasn’t too bad at the care home. I had Scarlett to talk to and I told her everything about me even my abilities. She didn’t believe me at first but after mind reading her she did. I never could show her my other ability; I could just never seem to control it. However, she accepted me. She thought that I was some kind of superhero. If only I had her optimism. We got on so well and it was such a relief to finally have someone who I could talk to and someone who could actually see the real me. Not just the person who was trying to fit in.