Mangled

Life should come with an instruction manual.

Because nothing in mine to date has equipped me to deal with it.

My mom is lost in her own world of drugs, gambling, alcohol, tobacco and the worst possible choices in men. If she’s even still alive. My dad, well, I don’t know who he is or where he is which is why this group home has been my home off and on since I was three.

A girl with anger issues and only one leg isn’t really first in line to get adopted by the shiny, goodhearted people who stroll in here looking for a dream kid. In fact, sometimes they don’t even bother bringing me out for show. There’s no point, even though Mom signed off her rights to me. Like selling a used car, or giving one away.

So, now that I’ve turn eighteen, they treat me as all children are who have grown out of the foster system. They put me out on my own with fifty bucks in my pocket and disappointment written on my forehead. Oh and a few months of rent in an apartment building that looks like a crime scene documentary location shoot.

Survival is my only plan for life. Get a job. Rent a place to lay my head where no one can hit me and no creepy foster dad can try to sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night. Eat. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

I’m not a dreamer. Never have been. A shifter female with only one leg has no choice: survive and stay under the radar.