Theoretically, a home is a place of love and attachement, a place to be cared for, when in reality, every home I’ve been to, has been a monotone box of pessimism.
Voices and faces whom I don’t remember the name of, people coming in and out, silhouettes passing by, hundreds of files and folders with legal documents, black ink on white papers, court appointments. Judging cold eyes, greeting me at each doorstep for six years, every passing year they seemed to grow darker and simmer.
The day I got shoved into the system, their tentacles found my heart, and turned it into stone. Their cold tongues and guilty gaze gave me frissons every night, their insidious ways turned my world into black and white, just like the black letters printed on my legal file; indoctrinating me that my life revolved and was all that was between those stapled papers, and nothing ever more.
Foster homes were as bad as they came, but luckily I haven’t been to the worst. Instead they placed me and other kids in juvenile detention centres. At the age of twelve, I had spent a year in the system, and that’s when I realized, we were placed in a prison for psychopaths and criminals, without a sin in our pockets nor blood on our hands.
Yes, I grew up in juvie, education was shit but I liked to try my hardest, it eventually led to sneaking a few books from class time, to stealing cigarettes and reading during night time. At that point I was hitting the peak of puberty...I won’t even go there.
Anyway, this was my reality, I accepted it and there was nothing I could do about it. Rather, I got accustomed to everything around me and eventually I started loosening up and enjoying myself little by little.
When I hit my fifteenth birthday, that’s when shit really went down. A group of young teens, including me, were moved to another detention centre in the neighbouring state, due to overpopulation.
This juvie was beyond fucked up.
Instead of segregating the cells by age like the previous centre, this one was in the shadows of the authorities, who themselves planted the roots of corruption.
Mixing teenagers with more hormonal teenagers, is like diving head first into a pool of crocodiles. Don’t make me laugh, just by thinking about it a little, you’d know it was on purpose, I mean, who the fuck cares about a bunch of teenagers with no family?
Every week there’d be a new incident; a runaway, stabbing, fights, murder or suicide...most of the time you witnessed it firsthand, and wether you had something to do with it or not, you were forced to clean up the mess.
Those found guilty had consequences. Most of them cried mercy and pled for forgiveness as they bribed the officers in charge, walking out without tasting the fate of their sins. I called that, crocodile tears.
They hid in plain sight, the corrupt; they’re convicts walking freely.
I didn’t question anything anymore, if I did, I’d be stuck questioning everything and be left running in circles with no answers. I minded my own business, no matter who or what, I brushed it out of my way with a cold shoulder; I didn’t need friends and I was comfortable by myself, I couldn’t care about anything else. Aside from our daily chores and school, I busied myself with books and working out, I’d talk to anyone but I never got too close.
I finally got used to this place, everything was normal. Although it might seem as if I might be losing my sanity, but oh well, this was the ordinary for me.
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