Honestly, how many would willingly buy a broken second hand DVD player while the stocks are still filled with brand new material, vary from HD till Blue Ray
It always started as a happy ending, sometimes with tear-filled eyes. Lips that smiled happily, hands that clapped together from joy and words so sweet, ripped right out of a script. He became crafty reading them through though, he didn’t buy the tearjerkers. That was all commercial, lies to sell and score with a brand new product. Your new foster child.
As new foster fuck you smile and become a beam of politeness and respect. You give paws, sit up and roll over. Whatever you think you’re new foster family expects from you. Else you might learn how to play dead real soon, or sleep outside, find your water bowl used as an ashtray and there won’t be any leftovers in your doggy bag. Plus your new owners might get bored with a dog that doesn’t listen. As ugly stray you really don’t want to be sent back to the dog pound. Because some very nasty mongrels made his bastard’s life pretty damn miserable. So, sit, paw, home trained and a happy smile it will be.
It was the amount of bittersweet smiles that always made him nauseous, those kind would always appear on the scene of happily ever after. Of course, because you were going to be a new source of income.
You never knew how much of those smiles where well meant, after all their great actors. The real play starts after your social worker leaves the stage. That’s when the real ever after beings.
Franklin Anthony Thomas Jr. Iero knew this set of cards. He grew up with the game and knew that however he would play he’d lose. He developed a very believable poker face and never showed his deck, that had been his way of going through the years and the many foster families.
‘Just two more years Frank, just two more years.’ He thought by himself balling his fist around in his pockets. Two long years lay in the future. Two more years of sucking it all up and turning the other cheek. Maybe at some point he was just an easy sheep, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Sitting in the truck that smelled noticeably to cigarettes he stared to the suburban houses that made him feel unwanted, undeserved. He shouldn’t even be here, didn’t belong in a happy household because honestly he never knew one. Well, a few hadn’t been that bad but he’d managed to fuck it up in short periods of time. Fucked up little gene code, one of his foster dad’s once had said, no kidding must have gotten that from his mother. He’d pretty much trashed the house after that but in the back of his head there had been that tiny hurtful voices muttering: He has a point you know?
That was probably the reason nobody ever touched his adoption papers. And that was pretty logical, even he could do the math. Two happy parents come to an adoption bureau, two happy parents want to get one child. They can pick pretty much every child that’s walking or still crawling around. Why would two happy parents go for one fucked up foster fuck with about his body weight in files and psychiatric evaluations? Why would they go for a hyperactive bed wetter named Franklin if they could go for a well manner Tyler, or a sweet and tidy Cindy? Who would even consider taking a kid in their house that liked to play with matches? Why take a kid that needs Ritalin to prevent him from going through the roof if you can get a healthy precious little darling?
He knew the answer to these mathematical questions, nobody.
Nobody gives a damn about damaged goods. It was the truth. Honestly, how many would willingly buy a broken second hand DVD player while the stocks are still filled with brand new material, vary from HD till Blue Ray. Why buy cheap Highway cola if you have bucks for Pepsi? Why even bother about that little brat twitching in the corner, while little Alice shows off with her new precious baby doll.
Nobody gives a shit about damaged goods, unless it’s not for sell and you’ll be paid to take it home. Then suddenly that second hand DVD player would look great in your living room and that Highway cola would taste nice and sweet. Wouldn’t you take the sour after taste for granted and wouldn’t you ignore the buzzing coming from your DVD player if you get 150 up to 350 extra dollars a month?
That was how he’d felt most part of his life, as a broken record player used by whoever wanted to earn a few extra bucks, while he played on repeat. Unable to skip through the nasty parts, going through the same track of memories time after time. Rewind and press play.
He didn’t like that he was back in foster care, but at least he was out of juvy. He couldn’t stand being locked up, the walls got to him quickly. It gave him the feeling of being trapped, unable to breath and death scared to die in a fire. It was a stupid and irrational fear but every night that he’d heard the door being locked the tiny hairs of his back stood up and in the morning he mostly woke up drenching in his own sweat.
And besides being locked up as a criminal there were other reasons he’d been dying to get out.
Let’s say Frank wasn’t that high on the social ladder and being one of the youngest (and shortest) hadn’t made the few months inside the re-education center not that comfortable. No shit had he been in fights, only three reported. It actually had been the double, six fights and most of them happened after curfew when all of them should have been in their bedroom. He’d been the easiest pick, short scrawny and the new kid. Looks could be deceitful however, sure he wasn’t GI Joe but he could be fast and nasty. It hadn’t prevented him from getting his ass beat in the back of the shower room though. He still wore some of the bruises and his jaw still ached like a bitch every time he yawned or faked a happy smile.
So it wasn’t that surprisingly that he picked foster care above some corrupted re-education centre which was by the way just a fancy name for stuffing some real psycho assholes all in one room and see what happens. Picking the least worst, he chose foster care, this time willingly. He figured he at least knew the drill. And he was sixteen now, not a very messed up six year old.
He stared through the car window and spotted a familiar happy family waiting on the porch of a picture perfect dream house. He really hit jackpot this time, goody. His new dandy family ready to welcome him into their house. A mother, a father, some adopted son and some random offspring not even from their own. Daddy-o or mother-dearest probably had something for second hand goods.
A knot tightened in his stomach when his new social worker parked his shitty truck against the sidewalk. He was forced to stare at the new family and while he nervously made his lips twitch up into a happy smile he wondered how long this stay would be.
‘Just two more years Frank, just two more years.’
First of all I want to thank all the people that reviewed my first chapter, I’m new on this site and I didn’t know what to expect at all. Don’t be shy to leave a message and I hope to update somewhere within this week!