Who.

My background is not particularly pleasant. I only know that I wasn't wanted, that's why my parents threw me into a bin bag and tied the knot tight. Ensuring that I wouldn't be able to manage to squirm out and exist for another day. They didn't want me. So they tried to kill me. I mean why have a kid if you don't even want it? The woman who looks after me and my foster siblings told me that the people who stole me away from that sopping-wet bag were cruel. I even recall those hideous events of when I was in their ownership. The stench of drying blood and dank air was mentally scarring. They were pretty much a cult that went around stealing infants to raise as slaves and torture toys. I don't remember how I got out. I think I must've been around the age of one and a half. But the police said that a passer-by had heard a slight commotion coming from inside an odd thin steel constructed shack with thick wooden doors. Anyway, I eventually ended up living with a woman called Sarah Pethroe who took to me like a bear to honey. She's pretty cool and more like a young aunt than a mum. Her house is fairly big since it has to house herself, my four foster siblings and I. I'm the third oldest kid in our family with an older brother of 18 years old, an older sister who is 20 years old and a younger brother of 11 years old. All of which have a mutual distant bond with me. I was the latest member to join the family and while they already had a strong bond, rejected me and left me to my own devices.