Runnin: A Narrative Fiction

Twenty-one year old Claudia Felder lives in Chino, California in a lovely home, with three sweet dogs, and most importantly, a family. One would never think that this well off young lady was once living a life inside foster care. She entered the system when she was just three years old, when most preschoolers were busy having play dates and learning to color within the lines. Claudia’s earliest memories instead were of her mom being beaten in a motel room. After that experience, Felder entered the foster system and stayed there for the next ten years. With not enough foster families in the system, she was bounced around wherever a bed was available. Her lack of a consistent foster

It is past midnight when loud banging sounds wake you. Something is wrong. All of a sudden, you hear the door being kicked down as the wood splinters and the glass shatters. Before you know it, the police have rushed into your home like a swarm of bees and have taken your parents into custody. Adding to this already bleak situation, a social worker has arrived and places you and your siblings into DHS custody. Since you have no other relatives to take care of you, you and your siblings are placed into the foster care system—in separate homes—without the ones you love most to comfort you.

“MUM! Wait!” I yell. My throat is sore, partly from the yelling, but mostly from the running. The thick, night fog blocked my vision of the path ahead completely, only allowing the occasional glow of the street lamps come in sight. I don't remember why I’m running or where I’m headed, just that something is about to happen. I trust my instincts to guide me through the maze of eerily empty streets.

Though most children in the United States are raised in a safe and secure environment, there are many who are not. In 2013, 3.9 million children were the focuses of at least one Child Protective Services report in the United States; close to one-fifth of these reports (679,000) were confirmed (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2015). In his novel, The Lost Boy, author, Dave Pelzer, describes the life of a young boy during his abusive times at home, court room hearings, and movement from foster home to foster home. He depicts the story from the child, David’s perspective. This allows for the reader to understand how a child views the welfare system, foster system, child therapy, and more. The main problem David experienced, besides the abuse from his biological mother, was an overall lack of support. “Facts for Families” (2000) claims that children have basic needs for both physical and mental health, including unconditional familial love, a safe and secure environment, and appropriate (emphasis on the appropriate) support and discipline. After being separated from his family, David jumped from foster home to foster home. Many times, this was simply due to a misunderstanding or circumstances that were in no way his fault, though he blamed himself a lot. This book illustrates the trials of one young boy, yet it speaks for the millions of children in the U.S. who go through these same hardships in their everyday lives.

R/s the five-month-old baby was left in the care of his grandmother, Jennifer Hickson. R/s Jennifer is alcoholic. R/s Jennifer’s house is not up to standards for an infant. R/s Jennifer leaves the baby with her sister, Hope. R/s Jennifer and Hope homes are like shacks. R/s Hope has lights but no water. R/s Hope hangs out under a tree with a lot of men. R/s Hope has the baby under tree with her, and the men are drinking, talking, and smoking weed. R/s Hope and the baby were observed under tree on yesterday.

We were walking for a few hours. My feet throbbed and my ears were ringing from Taylor’s whining. Finally I could see it, the old abandoned house I discovered one day while riding my bike. The door was barely hanging onto its hinges, and there were several windows missing or broken. I pried open the splintering oak door. In the house there was two rooms. One, the one you first enter, was most likely a kitchen and living room. There was a sofa with faded fabric and springs popping out everywhere. An old furnace sat in the corner with rotting charcoal inside. The door of the furnace was missing rendering the whole thing useless. The other room was much smaller. It was a bedroom. There was a twin sized bed. The frame was rusty and missing a leg. I pulled the mattress off of it, so we could sleep on it. There were springs and stuffing sticking out of the mattress. It wasn’t too dirty to sleep on because I pulled off the moldy sheets. We laid down on the mattress. Taylor started snoring within minutes. I was worried about Mom. She had had a seizure before. It was because of her failing liver. Last time, social services took me and my sisters to a girl’s home. They served cooked vegetables that smelled like rotten seafood and chicken noodle soup with frozen chicken. After Mom got out of the hospital she got custody of us, but the judge told her if it happened again she wouldn’t get us back. My older sister, Becca, was eighteen so she didn’t have to

Rudy’s mental state makes it difficult to maintain a job and has no source of income at the moment. Rudy is unresponsive to counseling nor does she interact with her children during the supervised visits. Rudy has no home of her own and seeks refuge at various homeless shelters that have openings for stay. Because of Rudy’s depression and living situation she has exposed her children to harsh conditions that would be considered child abuse in the eyes of others. Rudy’s children are in foster care until Rudy can become well and find a stable source of income and

Writer called Hope House to remind Patricia of our appointment to the baby pantry but the case manager, Stephanie said she moved out. Care manager was glad to hear that Patricia found a place. Care manager asked of Patricia’s new address and contact number. Stephanie was able to share only her phone number with me since Patricia’s new address was not yet in her system.

Ring, went the bell signaling that fourth period was over. "Yay! We Mr. Bond's class next," I excitedly told my best friend Danniele as we walked out of art. "Ugh, I wish Mrs. Jones taught art at Dean," she said as we walked to class. After the short walk to class, I took my seat next to Danniele and got out my homework. As the bell rang for family time to begin, a guy walks in with a schedule in his hands, Based on that and the whispers around me, I figure out that he's the new kid. The more I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed. That's when it hit me he looked like a kid I knew named Jaymez back in first grade but I wasn't sure. I made a mental note to ask him about it later. Quickly I shook the idea from my head and paid attention to what Mr. Bond was saying.

The kind of kids you hear about people leaving at the cold doorway of police, fire or hospital facilities; yes, these cases do exist. The ride to the orphanage was silent, long. Hannah riddled with anticipation. Asking herself, what kind of kid would they find? Could she set aside her pre-convinced notions of foster children and make the child feel at home? A daughter, Hannah hoped for a girl. It was her dream to have a little girl. And it was just about to come true. Hannah points, “Dan, hand me a Lorazepam.” “Where did you put the pills?” He stops mid-sentence: “By the way, how many of those are you supposed to take a day?” “Dan! Hand me the freaking prescription pills.” Sigh. “Okay. Okay. Here,” he holds out his hand. But, when you get addicted to the damn things don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Hannah’s face plenty red: “Let me worry about that, alright?” Dan throws up his hands: “Fine. Fine, whatever.” Sigh. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t be mad. I should be happy, right?” “I would hope so,” replied

I arrived at Shelter Care and met with Gustavo Nunez. I explained to his I was there to speak to him about the November 13, 2015, runaway incident, but wanted to also cover prior runaway incidents. Gustavo agreed to speak to me and I used

“What should we do about your daughter?” My best friend John said. “I don’t know.” I said. “I think we should arrest her.” John said. “My daughter was hysterical when I walked to take her mom to jail. There is no way I’m putting my baby in jail.” I said. “Well you already put her there. Records showed that her mother put in a small cell in the attic.” John said. “If I had known that she would be in danger in her own house, I would have taken her to my villa.” I said. “That’s it. Your villa.” John

The year was 2088, and Grammy Moma and I had just moved to a barn in the country, because there were a lot of storms due to climate change. Our previous home had been destroyed.

I and run. All I can hear is the snap of tree branches, dogs barking who I can’t tell if they’re chasing me or just off in the distances, and the rocks rolling down the cliff next to me hoping that I’m not next to roll down. As I keep running I feel my body slow down I became grow weaker every second. As I slow down I think to myself, I have to keep running I need to get out of there I can’t stand it anymore. Just escape and get out of the awful place.

“Hey dad, are you in there? It’s your son, Tyler. Can you please come out?” Tyler stood at the door of his father’s house, hoping there would be a response. The flashing lights of the police cars illuminated the night, drawing the neighbors to peek out of their windows at the scene. “Dad, I’m begging you. Please,” he whispered as he knocked on the door one last time and let his hand fall to his side.