Accepting Fate - (Slums to Riches, Book one)

Chapter 1

Angelique leaned against the kitchen's doorframe and raised her waist-length, white braids away from her neck. An icy breeze blew through the open window, raising goosebumps to her pale skin. For the first time since winter started, she relished its frosty bite. It dried the sweat at her nape and temples and cooled her flushed cheeks.

Rat droppings, discovered beside their only couch, encouraged her recent cleaning spree. The vile, germ-infested rodent possibly found a way into the house through one of the many broken windows.

Angelique spent a few minutes reattaching the boards over the holes before scrubbing the entire living room floor, dusting the bookcase, and washing the flower-printed couch. She dragged it out the front door to dry in the feeble sunlight while the weather endured.

Not trusting that the despicable creature had left the house, she moved across the entry hall which separated the living room from the kitchen.

Now, an hour later, though her blue shorts had turned grey from the mucky water, and her red, bony knees ached, a contented smile lit her cloudy blue eyes.

Sunlight rarely reached the back of the house, but one tiny ray broke through the clouds and reflected off the silver sink, the cabinet where they stored their food, and even the green plastic table where they ate when everyone was present for meals.

With each deep breath, the pine scent transported her to a green canopy created by a dense yet magical forest. The sun occasionally broke through the leaves, casting enough light for her to see the critters scurrying about in search of a few crumbs or a hole to call home.

With her head still full of fanciful imaginings, conjured by the bout of nightmares which plagued her sleep over the last two months, she once more picked up her mop, bucket, and broom, and turned to continue cleaning.

A high-pitched squeal erupted from her. The mop and broom clattered to the floor and water sloshed over the side of the bucket, drenching her side.

Thomas, who had been standing right behind her, jumped away to save his shoes from the same fate her clothes had suffered.

"Get your head out of the clouds, you stupid girl!"

If not for the growled warning, Angelique could not have told him apart from his twin sister. They wore identical black outfits under black trench coats. Their greasy black hair brushed their wide shoulders and dark glasses covered their 'light-sensitive' eyes. Fluff grew in the same spots on their chins and Patricia was as flat-chested as her brother.

She walked a wide berth around Angelique and Thomas, scrunching her nose at the spilled water. Angelique often wondered if she would melt and scream like the Wicked Witch of the West if one drop touched her precious skin. She sounded like a witch when she spoke and laughed.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Angelique turned her attention back to Thomas. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come out of your room. Did you need something?"

Usually impassive, his face transformed into the scowl he reserved for when he had to address her directly. "Robert informed me our rations are low. We have to go out." It sounded as though the thought of leaving the house pained him immensely. But then, she was hardly home to see what would happen if they stepped out the door. "If you have to leave for any reason, you will tell Robert where you're going and how long it will take to get back. And you better be here to make dinner."

Everyone in East Samita assumed Robert and Freda Frebach owned and governed the orphanage. Every resident of The Harlows, Institute for wayward orphans (as per the giant board outside the house) knew differently. Thomas and Patricia Pearson, orphans who never left after they turned eighteen, enforced the rules and chores of the six children living with them.