The Klepto Kronicles

[Voxxx]

White Oleander-inspired. Blame Zahmen if it isn't any good. domokun

You know I'm kidding, Z.
Mostly.




My name is Jaycee. Yes, Jaycee. J-A-Y-freaking-C-E-E, got it? And that lesson where your mother told you not to steal?

Musta missed it.

I live in New York. Maybe you know that place. It’s kinda big, kinda loud, but it’s home. Right now, it’s quiet—as quiet as the Big Apple gets on a Saturday night. At three in the morning, most of the alcoholics have passed out or gone home. It’s a crack world now, druggies having their own private parties, dancing together in stars and whorls of psychedelic color. They’re harmless. It’s the quiet ones, the big-eyes ones, that you really have to watch out for.

Did I mention? I’m a foster kid.
This is where you’re supposed to start laughing.
But you’re not.
Is it my clothes? Yeah, they’re dirty. So?
Am I hungry? Of course I’m hungry, you idiot. I’m always hungry. I’m a teenager.

Isn’t it so obvious that someone loves me, someone, my foster-mom, the other kids, Bill, really cares for me?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Things haven't been so easy since I left New Jersey, since my second foster-mom died. My foster-father was Nicolas back then. He never was any good. After the car crash, he told me to get out, take my things, I couldn't stay anymore.

I was left with my pathetic suitcase, the few clothes Amie had managed to buy for me before her death, the picture of my sister, still alive somewhere, and two hundred bucks stuffed into the tongue of my right converse. You can imagine how long that lasted. Somewhere in the downtime, I'd gotten a new case worker. This one was young, soft. Too new and stupid to really know what she was doing. She placed me with the Cardozas. They'd fostered kids before, and I wasn't the only one there. There were three others--Jesse, thick-boned and thin-witted, ended up with my cash. Chiquita, the small Latina with the long hair, ended up with my clothes. They tore up my picture. Robert was no help at all. He's the last kid. He's my age, but borderline autistic.

He doesn't get out much.

I haven't been back since I found Jesse's boyfriend sleeping in my bed.

That's when I started stealing.
A paper here or there. I collect 'em every morning, my dues from the city, and when I have enough to make it convincing, I sell 'em. It pays for a hotdog in the afternoons, rides on the subway so I don't have to stay alone on the streets.



Aaaaand, I'll finish this later. It's too close to the holidays to be writing about homeless kids.  

[Xahmen]

WOO!
White-Oleander.

FINISH IT.  

[Voxxx]

Have you read it? It's a really good book.  

[Xahmen]

It's an amazing book.
I especially liked the first foster house she went to.  

[Voxxx]

Ray gave me the creeps. But I like the idea of their house (okay, trailer) in the middle of nowhere, where people wouldn't care if they shot things, where snakes rarely struck above the ankle, and the Vietnamese chess set.  

[Isianya]

Okay, I must confess, I haven't read/seen White Oleander. Buuut I liked this piece. A lot. Gritty. Real.

Oh, and this line: "...dancing together in stars and whorls of psychedelic color". Love it. A lot. Paints a very real picture in my mind.

Hmm... may have to take notes from you on how to write contemporary...

.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.  

[Reese_Roper]

What Isi said. heart  

[SeaNut Butter]

Isi-chan, you should read it. It is without a doubt the most beautiful book I have ever read.

(continued)

That's when I started stealing.
A paper here or there. I collect 'em every morning, my dues from the city, and when I have enough to make it convincing, I sell 'em. It pays for a hotdog in the afternoons, rides on the subway so I don't have to stay alone on the streets. At night…

Sometimes I’ll find a church. Pretend to pray for a few hours, even the priests get tired. They’ll close up shop, turn out the lights, and leave for whatever it is that priests do when they’re not preaching. It’s not hard to hide under a bench while the altar boys sweep.

Sometimes, I sleep in the doorways of abandoned buildings, but I’m always careful to make sure no one else has claimed it first.

Once, I even went back to the Cardozas’ house. That was a bad night. It was raining, and the Church I usually visit was already closed. I was wet and tired and hungry, and it was close. I knew where they kept the spare key, the loose boards in the fence outside. I slept under the picnic table in the backyard for a few hours and left before they woke up.  

[KirbyVictorious]

Depressing.

I have that book. NMever read it though.