Prompt: Monitor
“You need to monitor him constantly. It’s exhausting! I can’t do this any more, he has to go. I’m sorry but he just has to go.”
He pulled away from the keyhole, straightening up from his crouch. Looked like it was time to pack his bags. Again.
How many foster homes was that now? Twelve? No, thirteen. And he’d only been here for a week and a half.
He sighed miserably, scrubbing at his face with a hand. Well, there was no point in dwelling on it. Time for him to go back, yet again. Back to hell on Earth.
The Imperfect Muslimah 