Love of a Sister

When my foster parents, Jason and Donna sat me down to tell me the 'wonderful' news that they were expecting, I honestly didn't know whether to be happy, or upset.

Now, you may be wondering why I am in foster care, or maybe you're not, but either way I'm going to tell you. No, my parents were not shipped away to Cuba or child abandon-ers like the stereotypical case. Instead, mine is different, slightly twisted.

When your mother is killed from four gunshot wounds to the back and two to the head, I think I at least have the decency to say having a new home isn't the worst thing I can think of. Because I would be lying. The worst thing to happen to me would have to be my life in general.

It's anything but normal.

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I never met my father, but I figured he was probably president or a superhero or something like that. But my birth mother, her name was Cynthia Jince. She was so beautiful and she had such long blond, wavy hair. Everyday when I woke up, she would say in her peppy voice "Rise and shine, Emmy!" no matter what day of the week. She treated me so good, and when I was five, while all of the other children on my block were getting on the big, yellow bus to go to school, I got to sit and talk with my mother. They would spend the entire day away, and when they all came back, I always asked her if I could go talk to the girl next door, but Mommy said no. Most of the time she wasn't even home and she said she had to go run some errands.

Seems kind of odd that a mother would leave her five year old daughter alone in the house, and not expect her to leave, right?

Well, she had that problem solved. Every morning she told me the same thing, "Emily Rose Jince, if you leave this house, I swear to God I will chop off every one of your fingers. And don't think I won't notice, because someone is always watching you. Got it?" Then, she would glue on her perfect smile, give me a kiss on the cheek, and leave.

When Mommy went out of town and left me alone, I would sit by the window and watch the girl who lived right next door. She looked about my age, with a thick brown braid and a tiny red bow. She lived in a such a small, yet beautiful house. It always made my house look like trash, and I dreamed that one day she would invite me inside. Her room probably had a TV and books full of pictures, but I wasn't allowed to have anything like that.

Whenever I would watch her, she always had a smile on her face, and her rosy cheeks and dimples made me think I was different. I wasn't allowed to go outside, and I never got to meet any of the other kids.

After all the days I watched her, she never seemed to notice me. She never looked my way or smiled at me, and I wish she would've.

The girl always had a little boy over, and through the open window, I learned his name was Cody. He walked to her house each and every day, and I wondered why he was allowed to and I wasn't. One day, Cody and the girl were talking for the entire day. Giggles and "I love yous" were all I could hear. Then, Cody kissed her right on the lips, and her daddy walked out.

Boy, was her mad! He glared at him with such a blood churning stare that poor Cody wet his pants. His face turned pale white and when he looked down, he saw the big brown stain on his khaki shorts.

"Get out of my mother f****** yard you little b******," her daddy said. His eyebrows folded together and he spat between clenched teeth.

At once, Cody ran out of the yard. He was crying and wheezing and he never came over again.

Once he was taken care of, her daddy's head turned to face his little girl. She tried to run away, but he used only one muscular arm to stop her in her path.

She made a small oof sound, and I immediately felt scared for her.

"Don't you try to leave, Lillian," he warned.

She said not a word, but instead looked up at her father with nothing put pure fear in her not teary bright blue eyes.

"And don't you try to speak either you little slut," he spat at her.

"B-but D-daddy," she near whispered.

His arm swung in the air and slapped her across the face. It made such a loud sound, I thought her bones broke.

She just started to cry more and more, too scared to even make a sound. Her dad looked somewhat proud, and I felt disgusted.

When he seemed to cool down a bit, Lillian said, "Daddy not again."

With that, he took his over sized biceps and pushed his own baby girl to the ground and preceded to punch her first in her face, then in her belly.

She screamed so loudly, and the louder she screamed, the more he punched her.

Finally, I heard a man shouting, "GET OFF THAT LITTLE GIRL!"

And soon enough, more people showed up.

Despite their pleas, he still continued to beat her. He seemed to like having a crowd to perform in front of. One woman called 911 and the police showed up very soon after that. Living a block away from the police station sure had its advantages.

When he saw the flashing red and blue lights and heard the dreaded siren, he immediately ceased the horrific beatings. The police ran like they were trying to win a race, and quickly handcuffed him. They read him his Miranda Rights, and was shoved in the back of the police car.

Meanwhile, paramedics arrived shortly after, only to find Lilly's limp and lifeless body on the ground. Her red polka dotted dress was covered in blood, along with her face. Her nose looked so out of place, I feared it would pop off. Both of her eyes, blank and staring dead-ahead, were beginning to turn purple and she had bruises all over.

What kind of a monster would ever think to do something like this?

One medic checked her pulse by putting his two large fingers on her tiny bloodied neck. He turned around and began to sob, right there on the scene. Another got up and drug his trembling hands through his damp hair.

The crowd's murmurs quickly turned to silence, and a clean white blanket was placed over her body.

Everyone watching burst into cries of sorrow and grief and hate for such a sick, twisted father.

What had she done to deserve this? She was only five.

They placed her body on a bright yellow stretcher and into a near by ambulance. As they drove away, the sirens were turned off and everyone was slowly heading back home.

When all the children came home from school that day, their parents were not there. Later that night, when all the kids learned little Lillian had passed away, they cried and asked why, and they had no answers.

But when my mom came home, the first thing she said to me was, "What did you see?"

I confessed everything and the look on her face told me something was wrong.

"Go to bed, Emily. Do not, I repeat NOT, tell anyone what you just told me," she said pointing her finger.

I went to bed and when I woke up, there was no "Rise and shine, Emmy," but instead a "Get the hell up and pack your things."

"Why Mommy?" I asked, curious and grieving over the little girl I never got to know.

"We're leaving," she coldly replied, grabbing a suitcase from my closet and carelessly shoving clothes into it.

So, I guess you could say when I heard I was going to be having a baby sister, I wasn't quite so happy. And it's not exactly a normal thing, but like I said, I'm not normal.