Heating Stone

Identity. Such a simple word that holds a lot of weight and meaning. Many believe that a persons identity is determined by their family name. To a certain extent, there is validity in that statement but what about those who have no families?, those who come from nothing and establish themselves to become great? Those who cut ties with ther families? Their fate is an unlucky one. Forever identified as the orphan, the poor, the weak, the hopeless because in reality those labels are where their identity lies. 

Having roamed this world, moving from foster home to foster home, the past twenty-one years of my life have been rather eventful. The past three years have been spent doing everything l had been denied from my early childhood days to the last day l spent as a seventeen year old. I always looked forward to the day l would finally be independent, not having to rely on any other human being for anything because all the human race has ever done for me, was disappoint me countless times. Teaching me that no one would ever have my back like l will. One of the lessons l will forever be grateful to my first foster family for teaching me.

Not all the families l lived with were bad, a few that l can easily count on my one hand really did try their best to accomodate me but failed to realise what my needs were. My absolute favourite would have to be the Johnsons. The elderly couple treated me like their own granddaughter, the first people to ever show me what love is. Sadly because nothing good in life ever lasts, they both passed away on Friday the 13th, the most cursed day to ever exist. I am not one to believe in superstitions but the only people who were the first and unfortunately last to show me what a family is dying on a day known as the most vile, horror filled day is anything but a coincidence, especially because this was both their fatal end.This meant going back to the picking pond, where the game of waiting was best played. waiting for anyone who has the smallest bit of compassion to choose you from a group of baby doll faces and crooked smiles.

And to what l thought was my luck, turned out to be an easy going three months before l was back in the confines of the foster family trajectory system. Another trait l learnt about people, their ability to pretend, was the unfortunate lesson l learnt from Mrs Willows. The middle aged menopausal divorcee. To my understanding, maybe due to my gullible nature, the reason she wanted to foster a kid like myself was simply because she missed the presence of another human being to brighten up her home. The familiar feeling of loneliness has crept its way into her heart and she could no longer take its suffocating nature. i believe she was happy with her decision the first two months of my stay.

She was kind, compassionate, funny and an overall mediocre cook. And on one fateful night, her sugar baby left her for a much much wealthier version of herself. The pain of losing yet another man to a either a younger, older, wealthier, skinnier, you name it version of the woman she could potentially become but lacked the confidence to become nearly killed us both. Whenever either of were facing troubles of any kind and needed quick pick me up, we would go to Raves and Shakes, a local fast food burger joint. The psycho parked the car in the middle of the street and locked the car doors. At first l thought it was a joke but when another car started speeding straigt in our direction, l realised how grave the situation was.

I managed to escape with a broken leg, broken ribs and a neck brace. Mrs Willows wasn't as lucky as l was, because the car crashed into her side and she endured a lot more cracks, breaks and pain. This resulted in her being in a coma for six whole months. Her psychiatrist explained to us how she suffered from depression, bi-polar and split personality disorder. How she had stopped taking her pills and that was the cause of the shift in her behaviour and overall attitude. I felt as though l was partly to blame because l had stayed with her for a period of two month and two weeks and had no idea of her struggles, nor did l notice anything different with her the days prior to the accident. When she finally woke up from her coma, she was sent back into a psychiatric hospital for tests and when they found out her mental state and how she had been faking being sane, she wasn't allowed to leave.

Reminiscing of the past never yields any good results as l have had the unfortunate pleasure of finding out, especially if your past is as bitter sweet as mine.Today is the day that l have been saving up for, the day l move to Purpitine. On a lonely saturday, l was browsing through the web when l stumbled upon a newsletter from the town. When l tried searching for the town online on google maps, my search was unsuccessful which l found to be very strange. The days after proved to be something out of the ordinary, more than anything l had ever known. Mail arrived on the door step of my apartment buiding addressed to me, inviting me to come and explore the grounds Purpintine.

This brought a lot of questions to mind; how did they get my address? how did they know my name?

Being the shallow minded human l am, l declined the invitation and we experienced a week lond drought. The second time they tried to get in contact with me, they sent an email and attached were pictures of their very small and intimate town. It reminded me of sororities, double story buildings scattered over the land, the town portion seemed to be more lively than the residential area, only difference was the lack of amateur impulsive young adults. The overall town showed its prisine stature, reeking of elegance.

The one element that attracted me the most was the population of the town, standing at a total of a thousand. Which is very odd but given how they have gone through extensive measures to keep it hidded, l'm not surprised. The town's remote nature provided me with a feeling of safety and comfort and that's what solidified my decision to move to Purpintine.