• Intro:

    I’ll tell you something about my life. Heck, I’ll tell you my life. My life is a screwed up movie. It sucks quite frankly. I’d trade my life with anyone if someone wanted it, doubt that though. Well you want me to tell you my life, well here goes.

    From what I heard, I was born in Mc’arthur, a small town in the Sierra Mountains. That was seventeen years ago. I never knew my parents. But I know my father was a drunk, yeah was. He killed my mother then himself when I was only a few months old. I was taken from my screwed up home by a police officer when my neighbor called 911 because she heard gunshots. I was put in the hands of foster parents a month later. So far I’ve been to 32 foster homes. I don’t know what love is, I’ve never had a chance to feel it.

    Chapter 1:

    Since I could remember I have always been a trouble maker in all of my foster homes. Once when I was thirteen I snuck out of my house to go to a concert. Not to mention I hopped the fence to get to that concert. Then I was cot by some cop and I went to juvenile hall for a couple days for being a minor at a concert. But anyways I’ve always gotten caught, and seriously gotten in trouble. That stunt got me into a new foster home.

    My twelfth foster mom Betty couldn’t stand me. The first stunt I pulled with her was hiding on the roof and acting like I couldn’t get down when she found me. Later every one of my foster brothers and sisters were on the roof watching Betty run around like a chicken with her head cut off while we sat on the roof acting like it was a T.V. show. That was my last night at Betty’s house.

    My skill of getting in trouble is what got me into so many foster homes. But at first it wasn’t like that. When I was a baby I was passed into different foster homes because of difficulties with my parent’s case, my foster parents, and of course what the court wanted. The court first looked for people in my family, but for some reason they couldn’t find any. So I was passed around so many foster homes that it was a usual for me. Except for when I was seven, I was living with my fourteenth foster mom. I was her first foster child she’d ever had. She grew attached to me and I was attached to her. I stayed with her for a year. She was my favorite foster mother I’d ever had.

    “Where’s my mother?” I asked her one day.

    “I am your mother.” She replied. I remember her eyes more than any thing I could ever remember. Blue, soft sparkling blue. She was young, thirty-two. Nothing could, can erase her face from my eyes. She was the only one who listened to me, the only one who even cared. I then knew what love was. I was afraid to have to leave her, I didn’t want her to leave me either. But I couldn’t stop what God wanted. I’m sure she’s an angel now watching over another child who is even more hurt than me.

    There was a car accident. They wouldn’t let me see her, and they kept me home. I walked to the hospital that night. I took a back road to the hospital and knew were to find her when I got there. I walked to the intensive care unit. She was lying on a blood drenched bed with an oxygen cup over her mouth. A doctor and a few nurses were huddled around the bed pulling a long piece of glass from her chest. An I.V. with a blood bag attached to it was dripping down a tube into her arm. Her eyes were closed, her blue eyes. I closed my eyes as my heart pounded in my head.

    “Mom!” I screamed opening my eyes. I putt my hands on the window, tears rolled down my cheeks. She opened her eyes as the nurses turned around and looked at me. My mother smiled at me and closed her eyes again. I was shoved down the hall by a nurse working at a desk.

    “No!” I screamed as she dragged me down the hall. “My mother needs me!” I screamed at the nurse.

    “You can’t see her now.” The nurse screamed yanking me to the waiting room. She pushed me into the waiting room and closed the door to it and locked it. “No!” I yelled slamming the door, “she needs me!” I curled up in a chair and sobbed until I fell asleep.

    I was awoken by a nurse tapping my shoulder. She took my hand and led me to the room my mother was in.

    She was so beautiful, how could she be in such an ugly place. She was dieing. There was nothing that the doctors could do. She was breathing slow, shallow breaths.

    I took her hand and put it to my fore head. I sat at the edge of the bed. Please, God let her live, please don’t take her from me, she’s the only one I have. I thought to my self.

    She died early the next morning. I opened the window; cold air came in the room and went in my lungs. I’d remembered her saying that she loved early morning air in the summer. At least she got to feel it one more time. I still can’t let her go. She was always my Mother and still is, no matter what my blood tells. I think that she was the reason I got put into so many foster homes, because I couldn’t let go. I wanted to go back when there was nothing to go back to.