Hiding in the overgrown thicket, catching my breath after the police chase, I could imagine how a criminal back in the days of complete and utter lawlessness got away with everything under the blistering sun in the sky. They could sink to new lows every day—besting them with yet another, more despicable deviant act.
A bomb went off, my body jerked, and I knew I would need to rinse my undergarments. My foster parents wouldn’t be proud. But I couldn’t continue to fake being part of this lifestyle. The lies were killing me.
Still, I did lead an interesting life.
I Write Her 