Some one from child services came and drug me away, and actually pushed me into the car.

"Get in!"
He shouted.

I was frightened.

He slammed the door shut, and got in the front.

"Where we going?"
I asked leaning forward.

"Shut up!"
He said reaching back, and slapping my legs.

I winced, and pulled my legs to my chest.
I guess I kinda forgot what pain felt like, physical pain.

I couldn't really curl up cause the seatbelt prevented me from doing so.

We drove for 20 minutes as he gave me dirty looks.

He pulled up in front of a gray brick building. It looked old, and rundown.

I saw a sign that read:Silver Stone Orphanage, but in my head it looked like it read siver Stoone.

He got out, opened the door, grabbed my shirt collar, and shouted:"You better behave you little brat!"

I flinched.

He tightened his grip on me, and drug me inside.
My legs becoming scuffed from being dragged on the brick walkway, began too bleed.

Another man approached us.

"What the hell is this!"
He said pointing at me.

"Orphan. He's 7, or 8 maybe."
The one said abruptly shaking me around.

I'm thinking:'I'm only 4!'

"Ok, I'll take the little bastard now."

I was drug up a flight of stairs, and into a room with tables.

I was slammed into a chair, and forced to eat this weird mushy stuff. No way that was oatmeal, or anything even worth eating!

I played with the spoon out of board-ness.

I got up, and started walking off, when a hand grabbed me.

"What on earth! Who said you could get up? Huh?!"
He shouted.

All the kids walked off on command, as I was left on the cold, wooden floor.

He didn't leave though.

He slapped and kicked me, which nocked the wind out of me, then as I went to get up he pushed me to the hard floor.

I desperately held the tears back.
I didn't get to eat.

He drug me off by my hair, down a hallway, and opened a door.
He drug me down the cold cement steps, and threw me down on a little rag on the floor.
He grabbed both my tiny hands in just one of his huge hands, and screamed at me.

"Your gonna learn your lesson down here you little bastard! We have enough kids to deal with let alone the little brats that cause trouble!"
He grabbed a chain that was connected to cuffs, and attached them to my wrists, and ankles.

They were tight. -I guess that how they were supposed to be.
The guy got up, scowled at me, I hung my head low, and he kicked me.

He left the basement.

The floor was cold, the air was sticky, and it smelled like blood.
I released why.

My hands, and ankles were bleeding severely, and I thought I might die down here.

I missed Conner, and wondered if he missed me, or if he was adopted, or worse-back in foster care.

I curled up best I could the other limbs that weren't chained up, thought of The Stones, and looked at the bracelets they had put on me.
The blood that had dried caused the bracelet and cuffs to stick too my wrists.
I softly cried myself to sleep.
It wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last time.

That night, I dreamed of The Stones coming form me, and Brian giving me a warm hug, with Bill, and Keith around us.

It's a nice thought but it won't happen.🏴