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Prologue
Tank
Can you imagine the things a single person can accomplish?
Can you see their future?
Walk through their dreams?
See right inside their soul?
Do you ever wonder what they saw the first time they opened their eyes?
Do you feel the power that their tiny bodies can wield?
Often, too many times I had found myself inquiring about those very things.
Now, I guess you're wondering why that is.
Well, it happens when you're sitting on the bottom bunk on a plastic, no-filling piece of something, they call a mattress.
When you’re eight years old.
When you weigh only forty pounds.
When you thankfully have a nosey-as-hell neighbor that called child protective services.
How it feels to be taken from a home… Well, I wouldn’t classify that as a home, not really.
A home isn’t supposed to have boarded-up windows.
Holes in the roof were patched up with black trash bags.
Pots and pans caught the rainwater that drips all over the carpet and the flooring.
Pots and pans are supposed to be used for cooking.
You shouldn’t have to scrounge the neighborhood looking for food and something that could house your food without worrying about it going bad in a day or two because of the poor conditions of the house.
No, in a home, you should sit at a table with your family and have a meal.
In a home, you should be able to lie on your bed and be comfortable.
Not worry about if you laid enough of your meager clothing on top of you when the weather drops to eight degrees, and the power’s off because your so-called parents only cared about shooting shit up through their veins.
What you shouldn’t have to worry about at eight years old or at any age if you were going to wake up with frostbite.
So, there I sat on the edge of that mattress, unsure.
Not because I was taken from the only thing I’ve ever known.
Not because I had my meager belongings, three pairs of pants, three shirts, a few pairs of underwear, socks, and one jacket, besides what I was wearing, in one of those wretched black trash bags.
Because sitting there, I made a few promises to myself.
First, drugs were never getting put inside my body. The only way I would take them was if the pain was unbearable should something happen to my body.
Second, the mattress I ended up in every night was going to be darn right comfortable.
