A prodigal daughter

15 years later

It was foggy outside. I looked out the window of the orphanage. In a month I will be 18 and I can finally get out of here. I don't know yet what I will do. Probably look for my father soon, my mother is dead, I already know that.

To the Newman home. I have been living here for 4 years now and it is horrible. Screaming children, disgusting food and strict caretakers. At school I often got pity for my hard life and, even if I am a little ashamed of it, I enjoyed it. There is something about this attention, the feeling that you are not unimportant to anyone. Now I'm tired of pity, because whenever someone does something good for me, I don't know if it's out of politeness or pity. Actually, I rarely have to ask myself that question because there's no one doing anything good for me. Okay, there's the cleaning lady at school who gives me a piece of candy every now and then, but I don't count that as one of them. I'm someone who doesn't like to be surrounded by people anyway. It's not that I like them or am even afraid of them. It's just that I like to have peace and quiet and with people around me hermum that's impossible.

I sat down on the windowsill of my room and look into the distance, a small park, the way where like every morning a boy walks by with his dog, the rather less successful toy store and back there it stood. The house of Gabriel Thompson. Rich, handsome and arrogant. And no, I'm not into him. He does everything as long as he gets money for it, that's how his biography could start. I only mention him to emphasize what an ass he is. He cared more about his career than his best friend, Katie Chesterfield. He dumped her to become an engineer, broke off contact, and never even came to visit her at the orphanage. Yep, that's right. I'm Katie Chesterfield. The last name was given to me because no one knew what my father's name was.

The bell is ringing. There's food. Disgusting food. It's only breakfast and I'm already not hungry. Understandable with this food. For breakfast there was always some broth of which no one knew what it consisted of. Then for lunch something warm but I swear that these ingredients come from the garbage can and for dinner a loaf of bread with a slice of cheese. I don't want to complain. I have a roof over my head and I am full but it is no fun to live here. The order of the day is always the same: breakfast, bath, school, lunch, homework, 1h free time, dinner, bath and go to sleep.

I walk down the concrete stairs and meet Mike. An absolute emo guy and anime junkie. He was dropped off here by Child Protective Services 2 years ago. I think the reason was excessive consumption of alcohol (by his parents, not him). I was already in my seat when Ms. Newman made an announcement. Barbara Newman runs the children's home and is a widow, probably she started the home just out of boredom. That's what it seems like. She somewhat resembles Prof. McGonagall, except that she would fight on Voldemort's side in the war.

It smells like metal. I don't know why. Like holding a coin in your hand for a long time and then smelling your fingers. That's exactly what it smells like. Disgusting.