Hanes

Dallas

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had scratches and bruises all on my arms and a busted lip.

I turn on the faucet letting the freezing cold almost brown water to slowly dispense from the faucet. I cupped my hands and splash some water on my face, I ran my hands threw my extremely curly hair and let out a sigh.

After just staring at myself in disgust, I walked back into my small room I share with four other people, I walk over to my little corner that had my few to none stuff I had, like three different outfits, one pair of shoes, a hair brush, and a toothbrush.

After I changed into a not so dirty outfit, I went downstairs, to try to find something to eat.

It was oddly quite down their, usually their would be the sound of someone getting beaten up, or loud music, but none of that today.

I opened the old, non-cold, small fridge to only see one tiny piece of chicken,not even the size of my pinky finger.

I grabbed it even though I probably would get beaten for taking the last pice of food, but the only thing I've eaten all week was a slice of bread everyday.

But that's life at the orphanage, the place packs take the kids of parents who have died or become rouge so they drop this kids here promising to come back for them. They just dump us here, we have little to no funding, which explains the lack of food, and lack of space, and lack of warm water and everything in between.

It's run by two old lady's, who do their best to give us a livable place, but they can only do so much with the circumstances.

And it's full of violent kids who are mad that they have to live here so they go around beating up other kids, mostly for the fun of it because it gets deathly boring in here with no tv or entertainment.

I don't remember much about my family or old pack, since I was three when they got attacked and once they got back on their feet, I was the first to go, me a bunch of other kids, some three some seventeen; which is my current age but that means I'm almost eighteen and then where kicked out.

After I finished that piece of chicken of went back to my room.

There where two girls sleeping so I tiptoed to my side knowing if I woke them up they would be pissed and they would probably pound my face into the ground.

I went over to my mattress and reached under my pile of clothes and grabbed my sketch book that I hid, because if someone find I had just the slightest of entertainment they would freak.

I've been working on this picture for about a year now, it's how I picture what my mom would look like, with what I remember of her, which is not much, all I remember is her kind yet strong eyes, and the way she would almost never smile, but you knew she was happy in the inside.

Now my dad I remember absolutely nothing about him, I don't remember ever seeing him or anything.

After about half an hour of shading in her neck I put the book and pencil down.

I had no sleepwear so I sleep in my undershirt and jeans.

I laid down on my tattered mattress pulled my thin cover over me and prayed for a savior.

Little did I know that dream would come true whether I like it or not...