Tales From Hell

My story is a sad one, always has been. Ever since I was a a baby I have been shuffled from one foster home to the next. I have always been alone. I never had many friends, probably because I blamed the world for everything. I never talked much. I never did anything much for that matter.1

The day they shipped me over to hell I didn't expect it to be any different from any other crappy town I'd been shipped too. The towns really name was Helena a piece of crap little town that was more than a trailer park than anything. The people I was sent to live with the Shedals greeted the case worker warmly, but I knew their type. They used the money they got for housing us unwanted children to live on. 2

The Shedals lived in a crappy double wide trailer that had white trash written all over it. There were pieces of run down cars all over their lawn, and a chained up dog in the back. The woman Lisa Shedal had long very thin blond hair. She may have been a looker at one time, but now she was a little too plump and a little too saggy to be anything close to cute. Tim Shedal, her husband, wasn't much better. He had a badly shaven face and a pot belly that hung over his belt in a sad way.3

The Shedals had four other foster kids already. They were lined up out front to meet me. The look on their faces said it all. I really had moved to hell. The oldest was about twelve, and her name was Angela. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her old tee shirt and jeans swamped her making her look unhealthily thin. The next was a boy of about nine, they called him Spork for some reason. He had a baseball cap on, and he stared at the ground to shy to even look at me. He was dressed very similar to a run away clown. He had on a bright purple shirt, green pants, and a pink ball cap. No wonder he wouldn't look up. The next oldest was a little girl about six years old named Beth. Her hair was the color of straw, and there were freckles splattered across her nose. She looked so ornery that I had to smile at her. She stuck her tongue out at me then went back to kicking the dirt. The youngest was a little girl of about four years old her name was Jasmine. She was like a flower growing in a junk yard. Her hair was a bright red, and her eyes were a deep blue. She had on a junky old dress in about the same condition as the other children, but there was just something beautiful about her. Maybe it was her care free smile, or the loving way she waved to me. I knew I had to look out for her.4

I wasn't much to look at myself. I was only thirteen after all. I had always been the tom boy, and I dressed the part. I was always wearing my old holey jeans, my old scruffy band tees, and my worn out sneakers. I was going to fit right into this crazy disheveled little family.5

As soon as the social worker left it became apparent just what I was in for. Mr. Shedal sauntered over to me, and popped me in the back of the head.6

“I don’t want any trouble from you, you hear? I heard what a little shit you were to the last poor folk who took you in. I tell you right now that won’t fly in my house you understand me?” He growled glaring at me from over his massive belly. Unfortunately for me I got a smart mouth, so of course I snapped back.7

“ Nope sorry I don’t speak hillbilly.” I said sarcastically rubbing the back of my head. He slapped me hard across the face sending me reeling into the dirt. I heard him, and the little woman laughing as they slammed the trailer door. They locked the doors as well with a loud click.