Apparently, someone forgot to mention that with freedom came responsibility. Escaping the gated institution I’d lived in for three long years didn’t make everything all better. Although, I did enjoy the lack of needles, and bathing in privacy was a treat. In exact reverse though, I’d have to say I wasn’t too crazy about the gnawing pain in my stomach or sleeping on the cold, hard ground.

I couldn’t ignore the facts-I needed a place to live. I needed things to survive. I needed a job. Of course, that was easier said than done, especially considering I had a definite lack of skills. A grade twelve education did not make me a rocket scientist, although I could still recite by rote some of the Spanish I’d learned.

While in captivity, we’d had no access to computers or technology, and books were doled out for good behavior. I’m afraid to say, I didn’t read often. Emerging into the real world like a butterfly from a chrysalis, I needed to learn how to fly. Or, at the very least type and speak a second language. It wasn’t like I didn’t have any skills, but somehow, I didn’t think peeing in a cup with no hands would gain me points on a job application.

I tried all the easy places first-McDonalds, Walmart and other retailers that paid minimum wage and required no experience. Nobody hired me.

Annoyed that they’d foiled my plan to start a new life, I moped for days and thought about going back to kill the managers who couldn’t see my potential. It would have helped with my hunger at the very least, but caution stayed my hand-and a squeamishness over parts of my diet that forced me to resort to hunting those of my kind-well my kind until I changed, that was. But the loss of my innocent self remained a memory I preferred not to dwell on.