Chapter 1: Like Killing Your Foster Mom Being, Legally, A Public Service

My foster parents were unambitious pigs! By pigs, I refer to my foster mother, who could have competed for the blue ribbon at a county fair. Taking in foster kids didn't pay much, so it says a lot about how far my foster parents would go to avoid work. They had great luck in the birth lottery though! My foster mother was the only granddaughter of a rich, influential man; several buildings and the hospital in Hohokus bore his name. Such a man doesn't care for lazy pigs, but he couldn't abandon the porkers either.

One of the few bright spots in my life was watching the foster pigs rant about living on prime real estate they 'should' own but didn't and therefore could not sell. The front of their building faced a cul-de-sac of sorts with three buildings on each of the three sides of the street. The old man left his real estate holdings to the Hohokus Preservation Society, with the caveat that his granddaughter be allowed to live in the building rent-free until her death.

Having no need to pay rent, my foster parents took in kids to make extra money. A lot of kids! It worked well until they had one of their own. He came out of the birth canal with Meal Ticket stamped on his forehead. The mark became visible when Robert stepped onto a peewee football field. Even my idiot foster parents could hear that the coach's praise was more than the usual bullshit fed to parents. Every step of the way, Robert lived up to expectations on the football field.

When Robert hit high school age, the oinkers ditched the foster kids, but their luck ran out with me. The social worker hated them! I understood the dynamics. My foster parents made it easy for the social worker with such a big house, regardless of their apathetic parenting style. So in the end, the social worker got even by not moving me and hinting at a backlog of complaints from other children. Of course, the social worker didn't give me a fucking thought! Let's see--leave me with a pair of inbred pigs, who couldn't see past their snouts when it came to their son doing wrong. What a fucking brilliant idea!

Outside of athletics, Robert made it a mission to live down to his breeding. As bad as the bullying was in school, it didn't come close to what he did at home. Box cutters, knitting needles, and lighters ... enough said! Before my cellmates escaped, I avoided the brunt of the torture by hanging out at the library until closing. The only danger was getting home so late I woke the pigs up. After my foster brothers and sisters were paroled, Robert's parents used me as a shield from the worst of his tantrums.

I gave another thought to running away before I sighed and unplugged the cable connection to my black and white TV. My late night movies showed how I had to work the foster parents and brother differently to get through my day. The foster parents were too lazy to check my room for contraband, such as the TV and the connectors to pirate cable from them. My foster brother did invade my room, but if my stuff looked non-functional I could distract him from smashing things.

Unfortunately, running away wouldn't solve anything. The social worker might make a big enough deal about my disappearance to get my face on the news. I did not want attention of any kind! In a year, I could take the first train to anywhere else.

The foster parents didn't like me locking the bedroom door, so every morning I went through the same ritual of pulling down my barricade. After Robert woke me up with drops of acid, I made sure he would never catch me asleep again.

No one being in the bathroom made me thankful for a good start to my morning. Maybe if Robert's friends got carried away again, I'd get to visit Nurse Mansfield before lunch. I brushed my teeth as fast as I could. Splashing water on my face, I inspected my nose in the mirror.

"Damn it!"

Nurse Mansfield would be sure to notice the lack of bruising. I opened the cabinet doors under the sink and reached to the back. Pulling out a small pipe, I grimaced. It was going to hurt!

"BITCH!"

I inspected my nose. It looked good so I decided not to bash myself with the pipe again. Hiding the pipe, I waited for my nose to stop bleeding so I could clean the sink.

A few minutes later, I located a pair of pants and t-shirt that didn't smell. I needed to sneak out to do laundry soon. Having friends would have mitigated the inconveniences of living with pigs, but no one at school wanted to commit social suicide by getting anywhere near me. Everyone on the lower end of the high school social ladder knew they had it good as long as Robert and his dickhead friends focused on me.

"One more year!" I whispered, girding myself to face the pigs.

On the way to the kitchen, I had to pass through the back of the living room. Robert and his parents were huddled in front of the TV. The old man was in his recliner with Robert and the woman kneeling to either side.

Was she giving the old man head? The slurping sounds! Her movement! Robert was doing the same thing so it couldn't be sexual.

I walked into the kitchen, filled a bowl with cereal and milk, and ate as fast as I could. I had to take advantage of the pigs' distraction to get in the most important meal of the day.

Lunch with Nurse Josephine today and every day for the rest of my senior year--life was looking up! Maybe the fates would smile at me and Robert would blow his knee out and have to live the rest of his life with his parental oinkers. Ouch! Let's be more specific--while in college, Robert would blow his knee out. I wanted to be far, far away if karma rained down on the heads of my foster assholes.

I cleaned up the evidence of a decent meal. The foster idiots would go ballistic if I didn't acknowledge their existence and the overwhelming kindness of putting a roof over my head, so I couldn't sneak out the back door. I walked into the living room to say 'good morning'. The fat sow really looked like she was sucking the old man's cock. Dear God, let Robert be gay and in need of daddy-cum to start his mornings right. Cum--the breakfast of champions! It would be better than a blown knee since I could use it more immediately to get out from under their thumbs.

I bumped into something on the floor. "Shit!"

Fuck me! The old woman hated it when I cursed; never mind that her husband and son gave sailors a run for their money. As I expected, her head snapped up and turned towards me.

"HOLY SHIT!" I squeaked loudly.

Squeaking loudly might seem like an oxymoron. I guarantee it will happen if you try to scream at the same time that your balls retract behind your lungs. I'm sure there is a female equivalent, like a slip into the wrong hole.

The female pig looked like hell! What should have been the white part of her eyes was blood red. Her skin had turned green and not the faint olive tone of beautiful, large breasted Italian women either, but the green of dirty camouflage pants. Her hair got thin and scraggly overnight. The worst part was the piece of meat hanging from her mouth! Taking another look, I decided the worst part might be the blood all over her face. For some stupid reason completely beyond me, I took a couple of steps to the side so I could look at the old man. Confirmation received--the blood on the sow's face was the old man's! Robert kept chewing at his father's intestines.