• I was surprised to see who my original parents were, they didn't look how I originally pictured them. My mother wore way to much makeup, and had tangly red hair. My father was a bit overweight, with an angry expression on his face, even when he was smiling. He was almost bald, but you could see small strands of brown hair. I looked at my foster parent, Theresa, who was nearly in tears. She didn't want to see me go, but she knew what had to be done. Supposedly, I was sent here when I was two because of a fire at my house and they thought my parents died, they searched everywhere. Only I was found. But, here they were, at the doorstep, not looking too happy that I would be living with them again. I saw two younger kids in the car, about the same age. Maybe twins? One was a girl and one was a boy, and they looked to be arguing, and better yet, they were my siblings. I didn't want to go, but Theresa said it was the law for me to go back to them, which made no sense, because they don't seem to want me, and I know I don't want them.
    “So, how is this going to work?” My father asked in a bland voice.
    Theresa rose a brow, taking out a tissue and wiping her eyes before answering, “Well, what do you mean?” in her sweet and smooth voice.
    “Well, what? Does she have clothes and stuff for herself?” My mother asked in her nasal voice.
    “Yes.” I said quietly, not looking up at them, I was staring down at my toes.
    I felt a cold glare come from my father. “Well, then let's go.”
    By then, we had already gone to court and got everything in order. I didn't know what to think, or what to do. I want to stay at the foster home, where all of my friends are.
    My dad grabbed me by the arm and leaded me toward the door. He had a really strong grip, it felt like he was stretching my skin. My mother grabbed my things as they quickly headed for the car right out front. I could barely wave to Theresa as they pulled me with them, I could hardly look back. Before I was stuffed in the backseat with my two new siblings, I managed to wave goodbye to my foster parent, who's tears were streaming down her face. I looked up in the windows of the home, children's eyes were staring at me, my friends in whom I had to leave. I quickly waved goodbye to them two before my mother brought her palm to my face, pushing me in. I quickly buckled my seatbelt as they drove, looking at my brother and sister. They weren't buckled, or even sitting the right way. They were kicking and screaming, and I was in the middle of it. I closed my eyes and felt wet and salty tears fill up in my eyes, but I refused to cry. Not now.

    Getting to my parent's house wasn't too far away. It was two towns down, but it was quick and easy to get there by car. I stepped out after everyone else, closing the door I came out of behind me as I followed my parents inside. We walked down an old stone path that was outlined in overgrown grass and up three creaky wooden stairs that felt like they'd break right from under you. The house was white in color, but most of it had gone gray or brown from dirt or peeling siding. The roof was black, but it looked as if it were about to cave in. The driveway was small, and made of dirt, and surrounding it were dead flowers that seemed like they've been dead for years. Even though the fire happened forever ago, I know this is not the same house, and I know these are not the same parents. They've... changed. My father opened the squeaky front door and it hit the wall inside with a big “thunk” before we all walked inside. I closed it as quietly as I could as I looked around the house. It was cluttered with children's toys, and magazines, and it reaked of cigars and cigarettes. I clutched onto my one and only suitcase, that held my clothes, and a few other things I managed to take from the foster home. My two siblings who were no longer fighting anymore smiled wide and took both my hands, leading me up the stairs and to their bedrooms. The stairs inside were also creaky, just like the ones outside. My brother showed me his room first, it had a bed, a toybox, and a small television, but that was mainly all. My sister yanked me into her bedroom, which was a tad smaller than her brother's, but it had more things; a bigger bed, a barbie doll house, a dresser and a mirror, a large closet, and a barbie toy box. No T.V. I looked around, where would I be sleeping? Both kids now yanked on my hands, sending me foreward, I wanted to scream as my face hit the wall, but I didn't, I just turned around and faced them, closing my eyes to stop the tears.
    My brother stood up as tall as he could, which was about to my chest. “I am Thomas, but everyone here calls me Tommy.”
    His sister pushed him out of the way, striking a pose before wrapping a pink boa around her neck and putting on pink sunglasses. “And I am Madison, but please, call me Maddie.” She held out a hand as if I were supposed to kiss it like she was royalty.
    I stayed still. “Autumn.” I said in a quiet voice, taking a step for the stairs.
    I got a good look of the two, Madison had a scrunched up nose and beady little eyes, with a small mouth and big ears. Tommy had a long nose and small eyes, with a stretched out mouth and little ears. I would say out of the three of us, I was the most normal looking, another reason why I don't think these parents are mine.
    Maddie put out her foot, trying to purposly trip me. I stopped in my tracks. “Where do you think you're going?” She asked in a whiny childish voice.
    I rolled my eyes, I wasn't one for whiny kids. “I was going to go downstairs.”
    Tommy jumped on my back and wrapped his arms around my neck, which choked me a little. I had to take deep breaths before Maddie pulled both of my legs, and I was soon on the smelly carpet. It didn't smell of cigarettes like it did downstairs, but it smelled like rotten food was spread all over the floor. Tears didn't even dare well up in my eyes, I was too busy thinking of ways to get away from these kids. Maddie started crying, and I got up, Tommy unwrapping his arms as he sat next to his crying sister. I rose a brow at her, but she closed her eyes and continued to make that annoying noise, but no tears fell. “MOMMY!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.
    My eyebrow was still raised as I stood up, and my mother came rushing up the stairs and into the room. “Yes dear?” She asked, not pronouncing her R's like most people do, more like the word was 'deeaaa'.
    Maddie continued with that fake crying junk, that my mother seemed to believe. “A- Autumn fell on my foot!” She screamed, she was really start to hurt my ears.
    I put my hands up in defense. “I didn't do anything, I swear!” I told my mom honestly.
    That same glare that came from my father at the foster home came from my mother just then as she stood up and grabbed my arm with all her might and yanked me down the stairs. It felt like my skin was ripping under her long fingernails, almost like she was giving me an indian sunburn.
    My father was sitting in a tan recliner chair, reading a newspaper with a cigar in his mouth.
    “Jerry! Look what Autumn did to Madison!” My mother yelled in that nasal voice of hers.
    Madison showed him her leg, no bruise, no scratch, it was just a normal leg, yet she was still making a fuss about nothing. I didn't even touch her!
    My father glared at me, that same glare. “Tina, go get Maddie a ice pack and a band aid, I'll deal with Autumn.” He told my mother. I backed up as far as I could, hitting the front step on the stairs. He grabbed my neck and walked into the kitchen, turning to the left as he opened a door and pushed me inside. “You don't touch her again!” He yelled angrily as he watched me fall down the stairs. I guessed this was the basement. “Cluts.” He mumbled before shutting and locking the door.
    I looked around, my head pounded, and I'm pretty sure a bump would form. It was pitch black, but I made my way back up the stairs and tried to open the door. I pushed and pulled with all my might to get it open, but it wouldn't happen. I walked slowly back down the steps in search of light, but the only light source available was a small, small window, and it was around dusk, so it didn't give off much light anyway. I continued my search, and finally came across a few candles, a flashlight, and a lantern. I took the candles and the lantern and took out a lighter that I always had in handy in my pocket, [yeah, I'm a little of a pyro] and lit the inside of the lantern, seeing light flash against the room. I spotted a mattress that was found on the stone-ish floor, along with a bathroom in the corner. That was mainly it. The bed had one blanket sprawled over it. It wasn't that cold yet, but I ran for it anyway and wrapped it around myself. It was somewhat warm, very thin, and scratchy. I sighed and threw it back on the bed. No pillow. No entertainment, hardly any light, just myself. I wondered when I'd be let out.

    Up came dinner time, the door of the basement creaked open and my mothers nasal voice called “Come help and set the table!”
    I sat straight up and blew out the fire from the lantern and walked up the stairs to the brightly lit kitchen. I closed my eyes for a moment, but opened them again and quickly walked to a cabinet and grabbed plates, forks, knives, and napkins. I had no clue what we were eating, but I hoped I had picked out the right things. I placed everything neatly on the table, for each chair was one of the items I got from the cabinet. But there were only four chairs. I pursed my lips to the side, but didn't confront my parents about it. I'd eat after them if I had to.
    My siblings pushed passed me and sat in their chairs, waiting for food to be on their plates. They looked at me, as if demanding me to get their food. I sighed lightly and took both their plates, slowly walking to the stove as I put the food on them. My mouth started to water; corn, mashed potatoes, and ham was sitting there on the stove, and my stomach began to growl. I quickly handed the kids their plates and grabbed my own, walking back to the stove and taking some of everything. Then, my father stepped into the room, looking at me and walking over, taking my plate and smashing it against the floor. My eyes widened, watching it shatter. I didn't know then what he was about to do, but he brought his hand up, and slapped my cheek with all his force. My head turned, but he still managed to do some serious damage to my face. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused, I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. I just stood there, slowly bringing my hand to my face as I gently touched the spot he had hit. No doubt it was red. I took a deep breath and looked up at him, but he was already at the table and eating.
    “Clean that up.” He told me harshly with a mouth full of food.
    I gulped and nodded, kneeling down and picking up the scraps, dumping them in the trash.
    My mother walked in, just then, looking at me with a weird expression on her face. “What? Not even a couple hours here and you're already makin' a mess?” She questioned.
    That nasal voice just made everything worse. I glanced at dad, who was glaring at me, so I nodded.
    “Speak up!” My mother yelled as I stood up.
    “Yes.” I said quietly, not looking at them.
    My mother slowly nodded and took her plate, going up to the stove and taking what she wanted, then walking to the table and began eating.
    I felt my stomach growl again, and I finally looked up. “W- when do I get to eat?” I asked in a quiet voice, barely audible to the human ear.
    I felt my father glare at me again, that cold glare that felt like icicles shooting one by one at my back. It sent trickles down my spine. He got up, his mouth still half full as he took me by the wrist this time, and yanking me back to the door where I had just come out of.
    I felt a bone in my wrist pull, and I almost screamed, but he pushed me back down the stairs before I could. I fell back down and hit my head on the floor. It was smooth and cold, it felt good against the warm and salty tears that fell from my puffy eyes. Now it was okay to cry, now he couldn't see my shame.

    I don't see how I ever deserved this. I don't see why I should be the one getting in trouble. I missed Theresa. I looked around for the lantern again, and when I found it, I pulled out the lighter and lit it. Light quickly entered the room, and I searched around for a food source. There was nothing, unless dead spider counts, but I refused to eat that. I sighed and went to the bed, falling ontop of it as dust rose and filled my lungs. I choked and coughed, sitting straight up until it passed. I took a deep breath and looked out the window, it was nearly dark. Almost. Soon, I could sneak out the door and try to get something to eat, when everyone was asleep. I laid back down and ignored the dust that surrounded me, wrapping myself in the scratchy blanket that was almost like a sheet, almost that thin. It had grown cold, and I thought this blanket would give me warmth, but it was far from it. The blanket was actually cold from not being used for very long, it had just been sitting there, for probably a year or two, with no one to touch it. I felt like that now. I was locked away where no one could find me, no entertainment, no warmth, and no food. I sighed lightly and closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but I couldn't fall asleep. First, because of this dusty bed that was making me sick, but second, I was thinking; thinking of ways to escape, of reasons why I deserved this. I was thinking of Teresa, the woman who has cared for me for most of my life, and then I thought of the rotten family from which I was supposedly a part of. I felt my cheek, it still tingled from when my father had hit it. I shook my head slowly, and closed my eyes, soon falling off into a light and cold sleep.