I hated that life style, but at least I had a place to stay and food to eat – a thought process I thought was very mature for my age. That was, at least, until I went to Mr. and Mrs. Walker. They came off as very nice people, but the actual experience was much different. I was probably about 4 at this time – blissfully ignorant to the world. I didn’t know what exactly to expect, but these people – these people that were entrusted with a child’s life, often forgot to – or neglected to comply with the bare minimum to satisfy a good quality of life for a child. I would sometimes go for days without eating, and if I acted out of line, I would get beaten. And when I say “out of line”, I don’t mean stealing or taking their car for a joyride. I was, after all, only four years old. I would get beaten for merely crying when they had guests over – not in front of them obviously, they were particularly careful about giving the wrong impression to the public. When we went to the market, for instance, we would act as a perfect family. Unless, of course, I would do something that embarrassed them in public, oh yeah, I would pay for that later. They would ensure that I would learn my lesson when I got home. Sometimes they would even take turns beating me, as if they got some twisted pleasure from beating a child. 

I had heard him cry thousands of times before and it bothered me each time, but this time was different. I heard those screams and I just lost control. This just seemed to make everything worse. The crying intensified and Christy’s pleas for me to stop just made me angrier and then I…