“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!”

I looked down at Samuel with a smirk spread all over my face like peanut butter on toast.

“And why should I Sammy dearest?”

Molly ran out of the house just then and rushed over to him, grabbing his arm and clinging to it like a scared toddler as they both stared up at the roof where I crouched holding a big bucket of hot pink paint.

“Oh Sammy dear, how on Earth did he get up there? How will we get him down? And why does he have a bucket of paint?”

“Don’t worry Mols, I’ll handle this,” he turned back to me and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Raphael Timothy Duckstein! Get down here this very instant!”

“Don’t you dare put that filthy last name next to my name. I’d rather eat my own puke than be called Duckstein,” I hollered back.

“Ah, but you are a Duckstein, because Molly and I have adopted you, which makes you our son, which means you are in fact a Duckstein!”

He smiled his ugly smart ass grin like he’d just figured out the cure to cancer on his first try.

“I am NOT your son, Samuel, and I never will be so go choke on a stick you imbecile.”

And with that I lifted up the bucket and began pouring paint all over the roof. The beautiful white roof was soon almost completely coated in the most hideous shade of pink I could find.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it right now, you’re ruining the house!”

I stopped pouring it just so I could turn and glare at them.

“And why should I? Why should I listen to either of you?“ I turned to Samuel, “You act like your better than all of us, like your so high and mighty because you got rich off your smarts but you’re not, you’re just like the rest of us. A simple, basic, far-from-perfect human. And you,” I turned to Molly, “You’re just a gold digger!”

I threw the now empty bucket of paint into a bush where it sank through many branches and finally landed in the soil.

“Look what you’ve done you little animal! You’ve destroyed the beautiful paintwork. Oh, I’ll get you for this.”

“Actually, no you won’t.”

I turned around and used the ladder I had set up on the far side of the house to get down which took considerably longer that I’d hoped for which was expected since the house had three big floors.

Luckily, my captors (uh adoptive parents, I mean) were far from fit and they were only halfway around the house by the time I got down. Waiting beside the ladder was my bicycle and a bag containing all my stuff (not that I had much).

By the time I had strapped on my helmet and put the bag on my back, the dull duo still hadn’t quite made it to the back of the house and right as I pedaled ‘round the right side of the house, they appeared from the left side, panting and waddling their big ugly fat legs like overweight penguins.

“Stop, you uncivilized crim of a child!”

I smirked and didn’t even bother to look back as I peddled away fiercely down the road. Another foster home, another escape. This was the fifteenth time I had run away but hey, I can’t help it if I keep getting horrible parents.