The CEO of My Heart

Memories

I still remember the taste of blood in my mouth, the metallic tang, flooding my senses, making my eyesight red with terror.

The sound of sirens, blurring in the distance. Every second becoming harder to breathe. My body screamed when I moved away from the broken glass and the upturned car that lay strewn across the tar road. I don't remember much after that. Everything else, a blur, snippets of smudged figures, lifting me up out of the wreckage; bright lights and with voices yelling; an annoying beeping sound. I wanted to tell them to be quiet but I couldn't move my lips. It told me to come back, but I wanted to stay with the darkness. The darkness was my friend.

I was only 15. The night my parents and my brother died.

Eventually I gave in to the light and the beeping and the noise. My subconscious wouldn't let me give up. The worst day of my life. When they told me who I was. When they told me that I was alone. I remember not believing them, I remember yelling at them, telling me that they were lying. I was furious, was this some kind of sick joke? My shock faded and I evaporated into a pool of tears. Crumpled and defeated. Alone and distraught.

They loved me. That's why it hurt so much. They loved me with everything. We were a family, happy and comfortable. They never neglected me, they provided me with all I needed. We were happy, no cheating, no abuse of anyone or anything, only love and trust. I can still hear their 'goodnights' and their 'sweet dreams'. And their kisses on my forehead.

But these memories are old, and I have spent my 16th birthday in a hell hole. I live in a foster home. It's more like a prison cell actually. Rooms all identical, no colour, no love. A small room shared between four girls and a comunal shower, which we all shared. The orphaned boys lived separately, but meal times and school we spent together. But I didn't like them. They were big and rough, and mean. Being schooled in an orphanage was a full 5 hours of a teacher telling off someone for talking or not paying attention.

I became depressed as one would become. The blend of raging hormones and the loss of loved ones, caused my voice to become lost. I was lost. They made fun of me because I was silent and small. I didn't eat and I didn't sleep, I became thinner and paler. Countless days I spent staring at the roof of the bed above me. I wasn't happy.

They all made fun of me. I didn't fight back. I didn't care. Damn them, I had nothing already. They cannot take anything away from me. Other kids came and went, I stayed. Nobody wanted a depressed, mute child. So I planned my escape. I didn't want to stay here, and I was 16. Of course I didn't really think ahead. I was irrational and sad, the worst combination. I gathered very few of my things. I couldn't take much, it would be suspicious. But I wanted to leave, so I left. Just like that. Nobody noticed, and I doubted anybody would look for me. One less mouth to feed, one less child to sell. I didn't feel alone when I left, I felt free.

But the cold soon came and the darkness. I remember regretting it for a second, but at least I was sad on my own with no one to tell me who I am or what was wrong with me, because I already knew what was wrong with me.

The next few days were a struggle. I lived in the streets. I think I didn't believe I would get this far, that I would ever even manage to escape. But I did. And now I didn't know what to do. I was hungry and well dying. But what else would I do?

I wondered the street, dumpster diving. It had been a week and I felt myself giving up. I wasn't watching when I bumped into a wall. No it wasn't a wall. It was a man.

My name is Rose. I'm 16 years old and an orphan, and this is my story.

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Feel free to comment feedback as this is my first story, let me know what i could improve on and correct and grammatical errors 

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