Life as a Tomlinson

I gaze around helplessly focusing on my friends being carried off to new parents, a new house, and a new life basically. Meanwhile i just sit back and watch. I've always wondered what it's like to have a parent that watches over you, cares for you, and kisses you goodnight, considering I haven't had parents for ages as what it seems like now. All of my friends are slowly disappearing and vanishing from this place with new families while I'm stuck here at the orphanage and all alone, must I add.

I'm Abigail, by the way, but mostly everyone calls me Abbey. I'm six years of age as of now. I had a very small amount of relatives to begin with so after my parents died I was left with no one which adds up to furthermore on why I'm stuck here. I've been here for a while now and figure I'll be left here until I'm 18 and then, live off the streets for the rest of my life. But hey I can dream of having a sweet family and a cute and cozy house, right?

But then one rainy evening, a married couple and a little boy and girl came in looking for a child to take home and care for. Well I can't really say 'little boy', he looks 3 years older than me, but the girl however does look younger than me by a little. When I saw them I felt hope and a bit of faith within me, maybe this will be the family... my own new family? Crossing my fingers, I walk over nervously to the bright and welcoming best hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

**************************************12 years later**************************************

I am awoken by my brother rehearsing all his solos in these songs that just came out of his and his mates' band's new album. Why can't Louis do this later on in the day? Why now? It's way too early for this.

"LOUIIIIIIS" I scream. "shut UP!" Lottie, my dear, dear sister who I happen to share a bedroom with, throws a pillow near my face, but she misses and the pillow hits the wall instead with a thump. She groans loudly as if to note that Louis and I are both being ridiculously noisy for 8:30 A.M. on a Sunday morning.

«You do know that some of us cherish our mornings?» She mumbles her point with a tint of annoyance as she cuddles back into her bedsheets. I roll my eyes teasingly.

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