310 7.38 The Tale Of Will.I.Am (1/2)

I only have vague memories of my childhood and had miniscule recollections of who my real parents were. I was told by my adopted parents that i was given away at birth since my biological parents cannot afford to take care of another child in the family.

”Use a condom next time, dear parents, if you plan to have a night of wild throes next time and not making babies like adding kittens in the household.”

Yup...I was given away to a barren family that accepts babies and kids and were kind enough to raise them even though both of them were mere farmers that depended on wheat crops and a small vegetable farm.

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What little they earned from the wheat crops would go for the care of their adopted babies and children. I was the latest and youngest at age 0 and an addition to the group as the oldest was 18.

We were all living in a shoe-shaped house called ' the old brown shoe' in between to a house made of candies and a house made of straws with a pinky little pig as our neighbour. I was cared for by the oldest daughter in the family and once in a while, I would get a jelly bean when I was old enough to feed myself.

All was heavenly for a toddler like me when one day something happened to the folks that took care of us and strangers stormed into the house wearing a kind of white hard shell full armour plates for several nights during the storm.

I heard they were called Storm Troopers or something like that and each time they came, they sized up my other brothers and sisters before they were carried off after their eyes were being flashed with a Neuralyser or something like that.

I was brought out from the house and was handed to a family consisting of 2 daughters and a mother and was brought up for a few years and all the while I was dressed up in girl's clothes. When I had reached the age of 6, I was then locked up in the basement and was made to serve them as a servant on the day of my birthday.

I was dressed in tattered clothes which would be fit to be used as rags or beddings for pregnant cats to give birth. There in the basement, I had no friends and no way to communicate except for a crippled old rat by the name of Splinter that would make his trips from the sewer and talk to me in his squeaky little voice during some nights.

Another rat named Remy would bring in morsels of food with it's little grubby hands to me and shared it with its fellow friend, Splinter as they chat and gossipped near the metal bars on the surface of the street level.

An occasional fat cat with orangey strips would occasionally pass by and took no notice to the rats and would say hello to me.