Hey Guys! I'm Back! Well... with a different name. But all the same I'm back! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: NO! I Don't own Sailor Moon. Or anything else for that matter...except my GREAT computer!!! Tee-Hee (3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I really was trying to pay attention in class Aunt Linda. Really I was!" I realized the fact that I was lying through my teeth but...all the same, she should be more understanding.

"So let me guess then. You were diligently taking notes, completely enthralled in the lecture and you just happened to zone out right?" My 'Aunt Linda' wasn't really my aunt (and I count my lucky stars every day that I'm not really related to that thing.) but she insisted I call her 'aunt' for "them."

Anytime someone around here says "them" we all know they mean the social workers.

"No I just-" she cut me off.

"No you just don't care, Serena! I care! I care! You on the other hand!... are a different story altogether!" she said.

I hung my head. She thought from shame but I didn't want her to see the tears welling in my eyes. "Yes ma'am." I choked out, managing to sound normal.

She threw her hands up as she spun around and let out an exasperated sigh, following with, "I am so sick of ungrateful kids!"

She thought I didn't hear her.

I heard her, alright.

I ran up to my room. Thankfully all the other foster kids in the house were boys so they stayed in a room together and I got my own. I'd never seen them before I got here. They all had a chip on their shoulder towards me. Daniel, the oldest, was put in a room with the three other guys because "they" insisted I needed my own room, for several reasons. One: A fourteen year old girl cannot sleep in a room with three other guys, and Two: I have a tendency to run away. A lot.

This is the 27th foster family I've been with. I was three when my parents decided they didn't want me anymore. Talk about boosting my self-confidence. I stayed in a group home (a nicer version of an orphanage) until I was about 6. That was when I became familiar with "The System." It's as follows:

1. Social Worker places you in home

2. Foster Parents ignore you and take your money that Social Services sends to you/ or they just mentally abuse you

3. Run away and "The System" starts all over again

I began to wonder just why my parents even decided I should be born if they were just going to leave me. I hated them for that. Really I did. I began to taste that familiar saltiness that creeps up on you when you least expect it. To come in for the kill. I jumped up and looked at the clock. 8:37 p.m. Linda would be in bed at nine.

I drug my beaten and worn suitcase out of my little closet and threw it on the bed. I pulled out all my clothes that I'd collected from the Salvation Army over the years. Some of the shirts I'd gotten when I was twelve still fit, so I threw them in there too. I had to leave my beloved flip-flops. I'd gotten them at Payless ShoeSource earlier this year. But I couldn't run in them if I got close to the police or the Social Workers. So I threw them under my bed.

My suitcase felt light in my hand. This is one of those times when I'm thankful that I don't have many clothes to choose from. I can travel better. I said a silent prayer that I wouldn't get caught before I quietly slipped out the window.