Everything Changes
I had learned how to feed myself if my parents had forgotten. That was what I was doing when the police came, feeding myself. My mother was shooting up with crack and my father was watching some vulger television show. I heard them knock on the door and no one made a move to answer it. I had learned from past experences to never open the door, I didn't like being pack handed. The knocking stopped for a moment then came back full force.
A deep masculine voice bellowed, "Police!"
My father shot up and ran to baracade the door only to have it hit him in the face. I hid behind the counter watching the police cuff my father. It was something to see. My father was a large man, nearly 6'4 and 250 pounds of muscule and acohal. I remember that it seemed unfair, five to one wasn't fair, but then again one fully grown man to one malnurished child wasn't fair either. Then the men went after my mother. She screamed like a mad woman demanding to be relised, that she had a child to feed. I knew she was lying to the police. She had never cooked for me in my whole eight years. The officer that held her snapped at the others to find me and take me to safty. I sat on the ground and waited. The officer that had found me looked to be older than my father, his dark brown hair was starting to turn grey. He picked me up and I don't remember much after that.
I never saw my parents again. Instead I was bounced from foster home to foster home. I was in around fifteen homes. I even had my share of girls homes. I only remeber one family and one girls home. The Walkers were one of my favorite families: they loved to spend time together even if it was just sitting outside on the porch doing nothing just being together. Maggie and Butch, the foster parents, were so kind and very active in everything we did. I love the guitar and learned to play thanks to the lessons Butch and Maggie got me. I learned how to be a big sister. I learned how to have fun with a family. I stayed with the Walkers for two years I left when I was thirteen. Then I went to foster homes off and on again. Then I ended up at Saint Mary Joan Girls Home. I was-am tormented there-here. The sisters are sweet but the girls are rather ruthless. The girls had stolen my guitar and messed it up. They used it as a punch bowl. They verbally abuse, but I don't mind that. I grew up with it. It was the pshyical abuse that was-is hard to handle. It's one thing to leave a buise, but to leave a scar is another. I have a burn scar on my inner arm, from when they set me on fire in the middle of the night.
The woman put down the paper and glanced at her husband that had the same one. He looked furious. Then she turned to her youngest son, this was his decion. Just like his father he was furious. He had a new fire in his olive green eyes.
"I want to meet her," He spoke in his native british accent.
The woman let a smile slip on to her mouth, "Of course."
Sister Gabriella's face lit up, "You'll love her! Oh, Indiana is such a strong and quiet soul. This way she should be in the music room."
The small family followed the happy nun as she all but danced out of the room and down the hall. She stopped outside a door and put a finger to her lips, "Shhh, maybe you'll get to hear her lay."
Then the sound of a guitar greeted them. It was a soft and simple melody. The boy pushed open the door after snapping out of his slight trance. Inside sat a girl, the girl, Indiana. She stopped arubtly. Her ocean blue eyes locked in on his olive green ones. He was held captive by her and he knew it. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him and walked inside.
"Hello."
She kept her stare on him, "Afternoon."
"I want you to be my new sister is that ok with you?" He asked bultly.
She raised a caremel eyebrow, "Why?"
He came closer until he was in front of her, "You know suffering. You know heartache. You know all that I don't. I wish to learn from you. I wish for you."
She sat up straighter and her blue pools bore into his, "Alright."
He let a grin slip onto his thin lips, "Meet our parents."
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I know it is a weird beginning. Well I hope you will enjoy this story it is odd in itself but in a good way.
With thought,
Allyson
