Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends Novels & Stories

She was afraid to ask, afraid I’d put her off again. “It was a burn,” I said, in a low voice. Her soft fingers traced it, and sometimes I swore I still felt it. I still smelled my burning flesh. “I was ten. The house I was staying at, they were my foster parents of maybe two years. They had like ten kids. It was a circus. Two of the kids they kept in a closet, I rarely saw them. They were truly sick fucks,” I said, as she laid her head back down.

For the last 2 years I’ve managed to stay in the same house, but it’s been… Challenging… I’m the oldest of 3 foster kids, which means I’m the one who gets the most shit from Florence and Winston or as we call them ‘jerks who just want the money’. They are two of the most uncaring and pompous assholes I’ve ever come across. They didn’t have the room to take me in when they did so they transformed a small storage room under the stairs to the attic for me to stay in, I guess they were fans of Harry Potter, and all because they wanted the extra money that came with taking me in. They knew I was old enough to take care of myself and I guess it was a win-win in their eyes.

That you have a detestable creature like me in your life She pulled me close and hushed me. “Shh.. Shh.. Don’t cry. Okay, I will tell you. Just calm down.” She rubbed my back. I sniffed and wiped my tears, calming down gradually. “I.. don’t know what exactly happened to him but… do you remember when we met I told you we live at a foster home.” I wiped my tears and blew my nose, “Yeah… That old fat guy I hate the instant I saw him?” I nodded.

“We’re you’re new brothers, fucker. And if you would calm the fuck down, you’d let us explain how great your life is going to be now that you’re going home with us.” The boy sniffs incredulously. However, I can tell that he’s intrigued. I guess it’s easier to accept the information from other kids than from adults. “So, listen and listen well. This is Rowan and Alex.” I point to them, then to myself. “And I’m Mikhail. I know that you’re a little scared right now, but there’s no reason to be. Alex is a great foster dad, and you’ll have a better time in our house than you will in a group home. Trust me, we know.” I point to a nodding Rowan.

His jaw tightened and I could feel that his wolf was uneasy to leave me alone with Foster in this state. "Go," I let my alpha command seep in. He stiffens but he obeys. "Yes alpha," he turns around and enters the house. As soon as the door click shut behind him I take a step forward, but made sure to not go too close. Pickett had been an ordinary human and she killed Giovanni. Foster was a human. Well he was now human. Foster came from a line of warlocks and witches like Pickett did. His parents however died a long time ago. His guardians who he referred to as his parents are ordinary human beings who know about his kind.

“Guys. Breakfast is ready. Hurry up now.” While the 12 year old Lyla, 6 year old twins Daisy and Michael ate their breakfast, I fed the 2 year old toddler Theo his meal and remained starved myself for another morning. We are all living in this foster home together under the care of Hector and Selena Brooks. Well... Not exactly care because they don’t care about anything else than the money they get from fostering us.

"Do you have any idea what kind of a home he'll be placed in?" "There are foster families in the area, and we also have a group home." When she says group home, my stomach drops. It literally falls to the floor as I think of Darren – the small kid who looks six or seven, but is really ten – in a group home. I wonder if anyone will care what his favorite toy is, what movies he likes to watch, what are his tv shows, does he have a favorite shirt he likes to wear? Will he get to bring his favorite shirt with him?

Not only were they in agreement, Williams had fast Internet as well. Sarah was disappointed to discover that her despicable car was in front of her trailer when she got there. She referred to her foster father as despicable. She wasn't much better than her foster mother. She had always imagined that none of the foster families were like her real parents. At least for now, this despicable didn't want to mess with her.

It was the kind of thing a child makes when they have absolutely nothing else to give. My hands flew up to cover my mouth, stifling the ragged gasp that tried to tear out of my throat. The foster home. The memories rushed back. I had been eight years old. St. Jude’s Home. Tommy. I remembered how I had refused to respect his space. Because I always had seen a boy who was entirely, completely alone in the dark. I had spent three days braiding that cheap, scratchy embroidery thread. I had walked right up to him, ignoring the way he glared at me, and shoved it into his hands.

Within hours, word spread through the Family like wildfire. Rumors swirled in the back rooms of every social club, whispered between soldiers at street corners, scribbled on encrypted messages sent between capos. They said I was keeping seven or eight young lovers in a downtown safe house. They said I'd been seen entering the VIP rooms of underground casinos, alone with strange men. They said I had bastard children hidden overseas—twins, some claimed—with evidence photos to prove it.