I was adopted June 23 2000. The people who adopted me were a little too kind: When we got to their house they gave me a bath, dinner and a little bit of snacks after dinner. They had one son (which I slept in the same room with), they set up a bed on the floor for me. In the morning, my parents and brother would get ready to leave. My parents would go to work and take my brother with them to drop him off at school. Over the years I had spent with them, My brother and I had gotten older. he kept his room and I took part of the living room. They left the house for work and school, and I was left to keep watch over the house. When they got home, we ate dinner, they took showers and went to bed. I awoke to a clicking sound at the door.
Maybe just the wind. I thought to myself. I got up and went into my brothers room and slept on the floor. The second time I woke up, I saw a mans figure standing outside the window. We made eye contact for about three minutes until I drifted away to sleep. The third time I woke up, The man was in the door way. I jumped up and backed into my brothers bed. The man walked to the bed and snatched my brother from his bed. He kicked and punched the man, but the man stared at me, patted my head and said: "good boy." Then turned and walked into the hallway. I tried to follow them, but the stench of blood made stop in my tracks. I then continued to follow the stench and the man who had taken my brother. I looked in our parents room. My mother and father had been shot in the head. Twice. I stood there in horror. I walked cautiously behind the man and stopped when he opened the door. He stared at me for a moment and then practically closed it on my face.
What was he going to do to my brother? will he come back? but the most that I thought about was
if only I had hands.
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