Foster Home For Imaginary Friends Novels & Stories

It was the first real party that Kylee had ever had and she was beaming with joy. The two of us had become inseparable that year. We had become fast friends during a group project in one of our classes. Now, we were absolute besties. When Kylee told me that she had been dragged into another foster home that was unloving to her, I begged my parents to take her in. “She doesn’t even have a home to call her own, mom!” I had begged.

My back seems to straighten on its own and I walk a little taller. With no idea what to expect, I’m not altogether sure how shocked I am at what I find. My mind goes far back into the recesses of my early memories, when I went to my first large scale foster home. Maybe most would call it an orphanage. They set me up in nice clothes, did my hair and took my pictures. Allegedly to get me the best prospective parents. Fat lot of good that did. My jaw drops a bit when I see several women in barely-there lingerie, posing like models. My hand instinctively moves to my belly, and I know good and well there ain’t no way!

Considering the chaotic jumble of neglected promises that is our childcare safety net, it was rather clever. Have you tried to find anybody trapped in foster care? It isn't impossible, but it is a bureaucratic nightmare. For starters, why are you making your Freedom of Information Request...you get the picture. Havenstone cycled a never-ending stream of false girls and vacant foster homes through the government apparatus.

Simon shadows me, his presence as solid as the ground under my feet. I find Audrey. “Audrey, do you think a few of the conjurers could start showing the families and single parents to their apartments, please?” She nods, then signals to a cluster of witches standing to the side. As they approach, I lean in again. “I will need Andy’s help with setting up the house behind mine and Simon’s. I’m going to make it into a group home for the orphaned children,” I say quietly. “Is it large enough?” Audrey asks, her tone honest, not doubtful.

The mark appeared naturally as if it had been part of me forever while the rest of my body eventually realized its presence. The glowing sigil expanded outward with detailed red, blue, green, and silver spirals. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. I tried to scrub it off. It pulsed brighter. I never showed anyone. In foster care, being different wasn’t mystical. It was dangerous. The situation worsened when no one was prepared to defend you. By seventeen I had lived in seven different homes. Some were quiet. Some were cruel. None were mine. The most recent was Mrs. Hensley. The current foster mother smoked in her house while having conversations with spirits and heated plastic containers in the microwa

"Social services took over. The first home was okay, it was a family with three other foster kids. Treated us like furniture—fed, clothed, ignored. The second home was worse. The guy had a temper and he liked to remind us we were charity cases. Third home—" "You don't have to tell me this." "I know but you asked and we're doing this whole honesty thing, right? No more lies?" I poured the eggs into the heated pan, watched them start to solidify. "The third home was actually good. MARIA and CARLOS—yeah, same name as your guy, different person—they gave a shit. I was with them for a year and a half and thought maybe they'd adopt me." "They didn't?"

Melody was getting frustrated. "Can I ask a favor from you in return for the promise I made to you?!" Melody requested, "I heard that your parents weren't your real parents." "How did you know that??" I asked. "I'm quite the journalist of myself. I heard the rumours from somewhere. Well, your foster mother gave birth to a new baby on the day you passed out. Do you know that they're the founder of the army school we'll be attending?! It was all broadcasted on the news."

She closed her eyes as the memory began pouring into mind slowly. Smoke, cigarettes, the smell of alcohol. The musty and damp living room of the tiny house along elmon street. A house that she detested so much. It was just like any other day, seventeen year old Melissa and ten year old Brandon were sitting in the farthest corner of the room, watching their foster father lounge on the worn out musty couch drinking out from a beer bottle. His pathetic face and figure was all Melissa could stare.

Flashback Staring down at the silver watch I smiled down at the gift, it fitted loose around my wrist but it still was serving its purpose. Glaring at the elevator buttons have they flashed, sighing thinking about how late it is and I am just leaving work. Not like I have nothing rushing home to anyway, It was another long day of trying to befriend Betsy, a blank partner fresh from the wild, she had been here for weeks and I cannot tame the thing, but can I blame her, poor girl was taken from her home and place among strangers, forcing her to adapt... like me. I don't know my parents, I spent all of my life in foster care, and according to the nurses, I appeared on their steps out of nowhere

He was left alone in the house when he had no school or made to sit in his room alone all day if he was not getting punished for his bad grades. Young Anderson had been in the Blue Angel orphanage for more than about two months after spending the first four months moving from home to home. After barreling through six or so foster homes in four months, he was finally taken into the Blue Angel orphanage. The boy had been sent back from foster home after foster home because every child in those homes were afraid. Afraid the boy with the dead scary eyes would kill them in their sleep.