A Different Kind of Family (ADOPTED)

Chapter 1

               As I sit on my bed gingerly, I hear mother's T.V., and Marie's radio blasting. My left arm still stings from the scratches mother put there earlier. Apparently I didn't fall to my knees fast enough. The familiar feeling of uncooked rice bit at my knees. At seventeen, I , Sang Sorenson, am a live-in slave.

               I finished high school online at the age of sixteen. With no school to go to, I am made to do every single chore, every single day, even if it was already done. Complaints are met with punishments, so I don't speak out very often. I would love to go to college someday, but at the moment I have bigger problems- like my "mother" trying to destroy me, mentally and physically, officially keeping me nonexistent in this house. As I was checking on mother one night after my punishment, I noticed something shining under her bed. After leaving a banana and a bottle of water on her nightstand, I took the metal box up to my room. I opened it to find a single picture and all of my official documents, littered with post-its. The picture was taken on a sunny day, with plenty of trees and greenery in the background. In it was a couple; a beautiful blonde woman with a huge smile, her green eyes bright and full of life. The man, however, was no stranger. It was my father. The man who has always ignored my punishments to go on extended business trips. He never complained about what my mother did to me. And now I knew why. She wasn't my mother. 

                The documents held my name and date of birth, but the notes on them told the real truth -of how they were made to look exactly like my sister's. Forged. It made sense. My "mother" had never seemed to like me. Sure, there was a time that I remembered her being loving, but I had long since chalked that thought up to hallucinations.  

               Shaking off my trail of thought,  I rose from my bed, feeling the four hours of kneeling. Near my bookshelf was a small door, nearly hidden, that I had found when we first moved to this house. It had become my haven, bearing hidden books, my journal, and most recently, my backpack. Last school year, Marie had decided that her bag was too childish, and threw it away. After everyone fell asleep that night, I went and got it from the garbage. I think that even then, I knew that I was going to run. 

              Reaching into the space, I grabbed the bag and filled it with two outfits and a very old flowered night gown. I go over to my mattress and get the sleeve of crackers that I had smuggled up a couple days ago. Beside that, in a ripped part of the bed, was a small pile of bills. I counted it again- forty-seven dollars. Every once in while Marie, "mother", or father-when he was home- left money laying around the house. Over the past year I had made myself take these bills, collecting them for my future escape. Hopefully it was enough to get me to where I needed to go. With my clothes, food, journal, CD, a few books, and money in my bag, I started the trek downstairs. 

             Bypassing the noisy parts of the old house, I found myself in the kitchen. The T.V. was now accompanied by loud snores, and I knew that "mother" was out cold. Father had left a note last week saying that he was going out of state for a month, so I didn't need to worry about him either. Marie would probably rejoice at my absence. I walked over to the pantry and pulled out two bottles of water, and stuck them into my bag too.  As I looked outside, I saw storm clouds, and decided to risk going to create something to protect me from the rain. I don't go out with "mother" and Marie for errands, so I don't know where any ponchos or umbrellas would be.  

             Back in the kitchen, I open a drawer, and pull out a trash bag. These, I know about after having to clean up after my punishments more often than not. I take the scissors and cut up the sides so that I can move my arms if needed. I also make a hole in the front for my face. Trying it on, I am pleased to see that it fits over my backpack and covers me pretty well. Not the most fashionable, but at least I could avoid getting sick if it took me a while to get to Wil's house. After I leave through the front door, I pull a piece of paper out of my short's pocket. Scrawled onto it is an address, my only hope for the past  year.