May 6th, 2012.  
There was a full moon that night. It was so beautiful. The most magnificent one I'd ever seen. I was drawing it when I got the knock on my door.
I was 10 years old when I got the news my parents had died. 
I barely had time to deal with their deaths as two weeks later I was fostered by the people who currently let me live in their house. It was a fast fostering but I wasn't glad about it. I wanted to stay and mope with the other kids who'd been abandoned or lost their parents too soon. I was afraid, at first, that my foster parents would try to act like my new parents but they didn't seem like they wanted to replace them. They barely seemed like they wanted to foster me, probably just did it for the money. The people I call my friends don't know I'm fostered, I never speak about my parents and I moved to a new school after their deaths. Sometimes I talk to them when I've finished school. I'll come into my room, sit on the window ledge with my sketchpad and tell them about my day as I draw. Just like I used to. Except, back then, I had spoken to them in the living room. I missed my old sofa. I missed my old house. I missed my dads cooking and my parents constant jokes. I just missed them. 

"Art, Brielle," I called out to my foster parents as I walked into the kitchen where they were sat with a takeaway box in front of them.
They never did like cooking. Man, did I really miss a good home-cooked meal. The little things that you used to take for granted are the things you end up missing the most.
"What is it, Philip?" Art asked, not looking up from his plate as he slid the box of food towards me.
"Well, there's a party tomorrow night and I was just wondering if it'd be okay if I go?"  I asked as I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and started piling chicken and rice onto it. 
"That's fine," Brielle answered for Art who had probably already checked out on the conversation. 
"O-okay, thanks," I replied and wondered why I'd even asked. Maybe I was hoping they'd care what I was doing with my life this time. 
"We need to go," Art told Brielle as he tapped away on his ancient phone that was probably made in the 1990's, it was like an actual brick. "Work emergency." 
They both stood from their chairs and were out in the door with barely a goodbye. I knew they worked a lot at the hospital but it made me feel invisible. I don't know what I wanted from them. Maybe them seeming happy that I had plans or telling me to have a good time but they didn't even care. No curfew. No warnings about dangers. Not even a joke about me going to a party. 
"A party? There's a first" - even a sarcastic comment like that would've made me believe they paid just the littlest attention to me. 
My parents would've made a joke. I can't even think of something funny they would've said anymore, I can barely remember what their voices sounded like. I'm worried that one day I'll forget them altogether. The way my mum would hum a tune in the morning or how my dad would come into my room and speak softly for me to wake up. 

My foster parents never speak about them. Imagine going through high school alone. No parents and no one who would even mention their existence. Imagine a nice police man letting you read the police report, only to find out there was nothing that could've been done about it. It was a car crash. Accidental. No lawsuit. No trial and no one was prosecuted. It's not like I'd wanted someone to be guilty or to get put in prison for what had happened. It would've just been nice to have someone to blame rather than have this aching, empty feeling in my stomach that couldn't be willed away. Nothing could help it except getting my parents back. The one thing that could never happen.