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Cohen Peterson


Two bluebirds sat on a telephone wire. One was slightly smaller than the other. The smaller one, a fledgling, had only a hint of blue feathers, while the other was colorfully decorated with bright blue on its head and wings, and a little rusty orange on its belly. The bigger bluebird made a few chirping noises, then flew off to get food for the fledgling. After a long while, the bigger bird came back. The little one chirped in delight, opening its beak wanting the food the big one had caught.

I have experienced very few positive interactions in my thirteen years of negativity, and this was one of them. I watched those bluebirds from a murky dark alleyway. I was alone now, betrayed by everyone, and forced to live on the street. The only shelter I had was a cardboard box that I found in a dumpster. Oh, why must life be so cruel? Why must I not live a normal life, not on the streets, but in a warm house with people who would care for me?

I was orphaned at birth, but I ran away from the orphanage after the tenth family rejected me, and I’ve been living in some box or another ever since.  Oh gods, why do I even try not to have pity on myself?

I decided to walk, to walk away from everything. I’ll try to shove my past out the door, and start a new life. But if I can’t or if I fail, what will happen? Honestly, I don’t know. So, I started to walk along the long, painful sidewalks of Detroit, Michigan. After hours, or days, I couldn’t remember, I was terribly fatigued and in need of water. After maybe a few more hours, I could barely walk. Then a strange feeling began that had never accompanied my sorrowful body before. This feeling gave me a frigid chill that stuck with me for long stretches of time throughout the day. Soon I started to feel a painful dizziness start to enter my nauseous head. Tons of colors blue, green red, and brown. Then, the horrid dizziness caused me to faint.

When I was conscious again, pain stabbed at my belly. I needed food, but I was tired of the stale chips and thin broth at the downtown soup kitchen. So I did something that was truly risky. I stumbled into a fast food place (the one with a roman guy on the sign) and ordered an extra-large pepperoni pizza. But, before I paid, I bolted for the exit and ran down the main street as far as my scrawny legs could carry me. I rounded 52nd Avenue, and then I heard the police siren. Soon, I was surrounded by patrol officers. But before I could do anything, I fainted again. The officers were in complete shock that this had happened, and they hoisted me into their cruiser.

I woke from my unconscious state to be blinded by several bright blue lights. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself in an ER surrounded by tons of tubes, wires, and medical devices. The door swung open, and a doctor walked in. Not making eye contact, he prepared some kind of shot. This gave me a chill. He withdrew a clear liquid in the syringe, but the blinding blue light gave a creepy blue essence to the clear liquid. He walked to my bedside. Then he leaned over me. I struggled to get away, but he held me steady. He had a strong, cold grasp, that freaked me out. He stuck the needle into my arm. The pain was incredible. I let out a startled scream. The doctor’s face showed no change, despite my startled reaction. After a few seconds, it went away. The shot gave me a sudden strength that my body lacked. The doctor walked out of the room, leaving me on a medical bed all alone.

After a while, a lumbering figure came into the room.

“I am your caseworker. Come with me, child.”

This was said with such a lifelessness that it made me not want to go with the strange man. When he saw that I wouldn’t come, he grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the ER. He dragged me out of the hospital and shoved me into a shiny, new Toyota Camry.

He drove for about ten minutes. Then he said, “I am driving you to a foster home.”

After I heard that, I tried the door handles, but they were locked. I struggled and kicked the door all the way to the foster home. When he got out and opened my door, I tried to run, but he got a good grip on me. Then he took me into the foster home. When I entered the house, a tall woman welcomed me in. She handed me a worn, mesh baseball cap. I slowly reached for the hat, but I didn’t know why I reached for the hat so carefully, but I felt the need. The hat seemed special like it had been through years of roughness, just like me. The hat and I seemed to have things in common. It was a treasure, one that I would try to hold onto for as long as I lived. I didn’t know if I could fulfill this promise, but I knew I would try. The hat I took from her felt of a soft blue. That was the first act of kindness that has ever been directed me. I looked at her questioningly, but she didn't seem to notice. She walked me to a small room with sky blue wallpaper, a small twin-sized bed, and a desk that had been painted a bright bluish. Then she left me to probably go sign some papers.

I sat in this room for week, months, and days, maybe? She never came back. Every day, three meals were slid under the door of my room. I was not allowed out until one day when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see a different lady. She took me by the hand and led me to a small room where an older couple was sitting. They had serious, but kind looks in their eyes. They wore black leather jackets and blue jeans. After a few minutes, I was heading upstairs to pack my bags.


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