I’m a kid, not a goat, just a kid. And maybe I’m a kid that enjoys being someone no one wants, that’s me. Lucie-Marie, the girl that reads. The girl that writes. The girl that sits in the corner to read.
Some children will wake up on Christmas morning to see heaps and heaps of expensive, technical toys stowed away in the gaping holes in their hearts. I will wake up on Christmas morning to see children crying because this is their first year in care, the children with parents will be arguing over whoose cards the most heartfelt.
My Christmas present of the staff last year was a book collection of Charles Dickens, my present of my drunken, wanna be oompa-lumpa Mother is a note with twenty p attached. How joyous- the last one I mean, the other one is my life. Books are gorgeous, paper magical portholes through to fantasies and world that are beyond your wildest imaginations. A famous author Called Lucy MB one said that books are take away a harsh reality and replace them with a fictional bliss.
My wish on Christmas day was to find a family willing to own me.
I admit to spending most of my day being a recluse, finding fun in drawing or writing. Not getting into trouble or watching sport. At school I am rather good, only doing the bare minimum yet m y grades flourish after a test. I however, am not some kind of Mary-sue, I do have my faults and so does everyone. My fault, well one of any, is that I have trouble trusting. If I trust you that maybe the highest honour that I can give anyone.
I ate dinner an went to sit and wallow in books and sweet wrappers when a thought popped into my head, there are two weeks until the twenty-fifth, I can’t get fostered in that amount of time but I can find someone to spend the day with.
I thundered down-stairs and into Marks room, he’s the head care worker here and he deals with anyone who wants to foster or adopt.
“Hey Mark!” I tell him, “Can you find me a prospective family?”
“What’s brought this on?” Mark askes, taken aback, if anyone ever approached me with the subject of foster care I would swear point blank that before I got fostered the moon would be incinerated by a duck.
“Well,” I started. “Everyone is in the Christmas spirt and I want a family- a proper family.” I interjected before he could add that for all intent purposes they were my family.
“Okay, ill hop right to it, come back in a couple of hours.” He finished, pointing to the open door with a flourish.
I true to my form, I went into my room to read Oliver Twist, one of the books in my Christmas present from last year. And I must have read for hours because before I know it Mark is popping into my room to go to sleep.
“Hey,” I catch him before he leaves, “Do you have any families that could suit me?”
“Um, yeah, get dressed and then come down to my office, I shall show you them.” He said from already out the door.
After putting my pyjamas on I walked down-stairs to Marks office. I walked in and seated down on my knees next to him and his computer. Wordlessly Mark pointed at his screen showing me three families, these are their profiles:
Dad-Mom-Teenage daughter-eleven year old son
Mom-Dad-Teenage boy-Teenage girl-Baby
Personally the one I likes the most was the last one because of how busy it was, despite how much I hate not having a proper family, this, this isn’t that bad. Somehow, someone has it worse than you.
I printed the sheet off and put it on my bedside table, and fell into a dream world where anything is possible.