I’m not crazy, I promise. Even though everyone thinks I am. I just saw a lot in my life. I’m only 17, but I’ve seen things that no one else in this world could even imagine. My name is Jude. Let me catch you up a bit. I live in Santa Monica, California. I live in a home with 12 brothers and sisters at all times they come and go like the wind. Oh? Didn’t I mention? I’m adopted. Yes, adopted. My “parents” foster a lot of kids, there are only five of us that are around permanently. To be honest, I don’t even really know their names. I don’t care about them. I really don’t care much about anyone. I lost my laughter years ago when the “accident” happened.
Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it an accident. My parents were murdered well, one of them was. My father shot my mother, and then he shot himself, as I little Jude watched from across the room. Cruel, cruel people to do that in front of their little boy, leaving me alone in this world like they have. My “parents” claim I’m not alone. They say that I have them, but honestly, I don’t want them. Who would? Ma is a tall red head with a fascination with cleaning, and we can’t forget Father. Other than being a conceited loser that won’t answer to anything but Father, he’s a working man that we hardly ever see.

I’m not much of a fan of people. I found that out when I first started school. In kindergarten I never played with the other kids, but for some reason they always wanted to play with me. I became very popular, and unfortunately for me I’m still popular. But, enough about me today is a very special day in this house. Another new adoptee or “permanent” as us kids call them around the house is arriving.

Everyone is hustling and bustling around the house preparing for the new arrival. Well, everyone except for me. I never do, just another face in the crowd that is my so called family.

“Jude.” Father’s calling my name. Oh joy, NOT! I hate hanging around these people. Ever so slowly I slink down the stairs to meet my new family member, and find the whole family gathered around the door. I hang in the back of the crowd as usual. I really don’t care who this person is.

As my curiosity grows I peek through the crowds of siblings to find a scared looking little girl. She’s very skinny, in ragged clothing, with shiny blue eyes. Throughout the shouting in the crowd I find out her name was Layla. Oh, Layla, another stupid name I’ll never remember.

Walking back to my room, I hear a little voice. Probably nothing, let’s keep going. But, I hear the voice again, and again following me the hall. I don’t know what the hell is going on in this house anymore. I go to my room and slam my door. These people really crawl under my skin.

“Jude… Jude… Listen to me Jude! Listen to me,” the voice whispers. Where is it coming from? What is it? Who is it? “Jude… I’m closer to you than you think.” “Jude, you need my help.” Are there voices, in my head maybe? God help me now. Remember how I swore I wasn’t crazy? I think I might be starting to reconsider. I’ve heard this voice for awhile now. It’s getting stronger and stronger with each passing day.

I ignore the voice and go about my day as usual, locked in my room pounding away on my laptop, playing video games, eating every moment besides dinner. Everyone wonders why I eat before and after dinner. It’s so I don’t have to see any of them. Like, I said I’m not fond of people.

Night fall… Something about it always pulls me out. I creep down the stairs ever so silently, not to wake the mass of children that live in this house. I open the door and slink onto the porch. Looking around, I embrace the quiet of night. The air smells great, no one to be seen just me and the darkness. I take my leave and walk casually down the street. Everything seems silent when out of nowhere I hear the pitter patter of footsteps behind me. Turning, I see no one, nothing, silence once more.