THE MAIDEN AND THE DRAGON

1. the beginning

For as long as I can remember, I have always been an orphan. I have no memory of home.

My home was the orphanage. I grew so fed up with waiting to get picked by a sweet, loving family. No one wanted me. I was never going to be good enough, so I ran away.

I was twelve, living on the streets. One day I was found again, along with other street kids, and taken by a government van. Some of us had run away from home; others were just like me. I went through many foster homes. I discovered there was something wrong with me on the day the social worker took me to my first home. I did not want to be there until the woman opened the door.

She led us into the living room smiling all the while at me. Just then, she hurried to answer the ring of the door alarm. She came back with more laughter, touching hands with an older man. Both of them were my new foster parents.

I had found my home.

I waved happily to the social worker glad to see the back of her and then grateful. I was pleased I ran away from the orphanage. If I had not run away I would never have found these people.

We had dinner soon after. Dinner was fast food; pizza and coca-cola. I soon learned that my new mother didn't like to cook. I thought about how I'd never had a mother, then did this mean this woman was my mother or my new mother? Her name was Faith. Was I glad? Everything was meant to be. Jared, my foster dad showed me to my room.

Everything was pleasant for the first week and then I woke up one midnight. The house was on fire. The rooms were cloudy with smoke.

I heard their screams.

They slept in the master bedroom. I ran downstairs to the kitchen. Everywhere was on fire. I was so determined that I would die to get some water to get to them; maybe extinguish the fire so it would flood their door no more. That was when I realized I was immune to fire.

I did not have time to reflect on that. I was just glad I got through. I grabbed the bucket, filled it with water, and lumbered through the burning boards, avoiding the shrivelling wallpapers.

I was able to extinguish the entrance fire to an extent, but when I got there the room was breaking to pieces and they were already turning black. I had never smelt burning flesh until then. The sight was awful. As I stumbled back in shock with my hands stained black with smoke, a uniformed man rushed for me, pulling me out. The place was wet with water and hot with breaking wood that was crashing everywhere.

The social worker came the next day and within that month I was in my next foster home, coming to terms with my loss. Nothing happened for a long time, but I became a lot to deal with. No one thought they could handle me, or maybe their rules were just too much. They needed to give me some breathing space at least. I didn't get along with other kids. I had no friends and I moved a lot.

My moving was affecting my studies and so I was registered to see a therapist getting to my new foster home. I stayed longer and made some friends. I didn't always want to hang out with them, knowing by this time something was wrong with me. It hurt me that they could not understand and I would not explain. I'd be labelled a freak and then maybe I was a freak. If I was then it'd be just me knowing that, no one else.

On that day, the Therapist concluded that I was making some progress. We had been meeting for a while. We could move to the next step. He was suggesting I go through hypnotism. I didn't think I could ever trust anyone, ever. All through my stay at the orphanage was a lie. They had promised me I would have a family. I had lived alone in the streets through the pleasant and the harsh elements, learning no one was truly my friend. I had given the adults a chance and they didn't bother attempting to go the extra mile. I was just a foster kid, some way to get money coming in for them.