Chapter 2

After that my mother always spoke to me about her life when she was younger, and the dangers she faced after entering a foster home.

At the ripe age of ten, I knew the horrors I’d face if I was taken away from her.

The rape and the abuse were what I dreaded the most. But I was born unlucky, because my mother got sick.

She was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer and didn't last two months after we found out.

I was just twelve when she died.

There were no parting touchy words she passed on to me.

No tears.

She just looked at me from the hospital bed.

And carried on looking even after the monitors blared through the room, even after the nurse lifted me up off the ground and carried a struggling me out of the room.

I could've maybe told myself that she smiled a little but I couldn't bring it to the forefront of my mind to have such foolish thoughts.

It was the same day, November 8th, that the system swallowed me in. I had no choice. Forced into it and for 2 weeks like any other 12-year-old faced with shit luck I stuck it out for a peanut butter sandwich in the morning and stale crackers at night.

But when your foster dad rapes you, you get the fuck out of dodge.

I did. But only after I took a tin opener to his throat.

I left the other kids in that shit hole and took my chances alone on the streets. I was bleeding and violated. My private places ached, but I didn't seek a hospital or anyone's help.

Instead I made my way to the train station that night and cleaned myself up in the public bathroom that smelled like shit and puke. But to me, it was just another day of surviving; just another day in this fucked up-ness we call life.

The tissue paper I used to wipe the evidence away as the tear leaked silently down my cheek, was the one thing I made sure of, to never let happen again.

9 years have passed since then. Not much has changed in my life. No magical happenings or great jobs.

I didn't even finish school.

I’m still living on Washington streets. Still begging for scraps, because no one wants to hire a homeless 21-year-old with no I.D. I tried, many, many times.

I even tried stripping; apparently you need a ‘P H D’ to do that too.

Only now the cold is making it fucking hard to even breathe. But nothing is making me come out of my spot in-between the dumpsters. This is like a fucking luxury hotel in my world. I could get a good 3 or 4 hours sleep here.

The owner of Lazers saw me around a few times, he said he wanted to talk to me tonight when the place closed. I only agreed because he offered me a hot meal, something I’ve never had before. And I'm sure I can take him if he tries anything. I haven't lived this long being nice.

To survive years on the streets, you need rules. The first one is never trust anyone. You do that and you’d have no one to identify your body. You’d be lucky it even made it to the morgue. Or worse, you could end up sold as a fucking prostitute for small pocket change. There’s no way out of that one. Those pimps get you hooked on any crap they feel like sticking up your veins and it isn't always drugs.

The second rule- if you're a female, always stink, even if you manage to get to the river or a tap. You never clean up too nicely. Smelling bad keeps fuckers away.

The third rule- don't think someone is your friend, there's no fucking friends in this place, everybody wants something. I made that mistake a few times and almost got shot by a street gang last year, when this girl Tally told them I stole her drugs, the same drugs she shot up her veins.

And the fourth, and this is an important one, never steal. Many of us do, well most. I did it one time, just once, to a kid 2 years ago. I was fucking cold and hadn't eaten for days. I saw him stash a ten in the front pocket of his hoody and thought fuck it. I got the hoody, but only after he beat the fuck out of me. It turned out he was only short and was actually 17.

After he beat me, he took pity on me and gave me a hundred, it was sick, but I took the cash and it kept me fed for months. Since then, I hadn't had any problems. No run ins with trouble, well at least not anything worth adding to my nightmares. I never said I'm innocent.