To Whom It May Concern: a memoir of a foster child

The first time I flooded the barnyard, I thought nothing of it. The cows didn't mind and neither did I. Auntie Pat cared, though. She grabbed me by my skinny little arm, took me into the bedroom, made me bare my butt and beat me several times with a razor strap.
A razor strap is worse than a pony whip. It's bigger, thicker and leaves one hell of a mark on a little girl's bare white skin.