Personal Narrative: Why I Go Back To My Foster Home

I sit and feel the breeze blow in my face. I have been sitting here for what felt like hours while my foster parents collect their return papers. I really shouldn’t have been surprised that they would be sending me back, they always do. I don’t really understand why they are sending me back. I didn’t do it. It was those bullies as usual, but once your foster parents see you with a black eye they automatically think you’re the troubled one. So here I am being shipped back to my foster home in Amarillo, TX. I really was a good girl, I did my homework on time, stayed out of everyone’s way and lived a normal life. Or so I thought.

“Come on Nova, the sooner we take off, the better traffic will be,” Rosanne my foster mother said. I watched her as

I sat and thought about it. It didn’t make complete sense, but it was the only logical scenario I could come up with. The girls at the table took my silence as an ending of the subject and moved on to other happier things. While I put Carol and Jules running away to back of my mind, and turned my attention back to the delicious breakfast. ********

I had spent the rest of the day helping the girls clean up the house and outside, before I finally plowed into my bed that night. I was so tired I instantly fell asleep. I didn’t even hear the footsteps slowly creeping up the stairs. I remember some of my dream from that night. I was in a field, and all the girls were there, they were wearing flower dresses, like the one at my last foster parents house. The girls were twirling in circles in the shining sun. Then suddenly a dark cloud blew over the meadow and lightning and rain started pouring down. I knew it wasn’t real, but looking at the girl’s frightened faces I tried to race over to help them. But my feet felt like they were in mud, and my progress was slow. I finally got to what felt like only a couple of feet, the wind tearing at my clothes and sending my hair into a whirlwind. I see one of the girls