She remembered that one day when she woke up in that hospital room, barely even knowing, remembering her own name. Then, like a bucket of cold ice thrown onto her head, she was painfully aware of what had gone on. She didn't know everything, maybe, but just enough.
She spent hours and days calling for her parents, or someone, someone that loved her as family to come find her. She begged the nurses to get someone, anyone. Days, crying for her mother and father, screaming for them to be alright.
"Mom, I want my mom! I want my dad! Where are they? I need to see them!
Please, let me see them!"
Her young, painful cries were the only sounds in the room besides the occasional rushing footsteps of a nurse, fleeing out of the room. They would start shaking, looking as if they were going to start crying, then run off and call for another one to come in. She kept calling, until her voice was hoarse and then no more.
But nobody came.
After what seemed like an eternity, maybe a week, maybe three of asking the nurses for her parents and them trying to stabilize her condition, the doctor finally told her the truth.
Both of her parents were dead.
That was the day she decided her life was meaningless.
She constantly tried to take away her sorrows and pain, to the point where a few nurses had to constantly survey her and keep watch.
She could never sleep, memories of the crash invaded her mind and subconscious, force-feeding her every moment, every scratch in her mother's beautiful face and every droplet of blood that decorated the shards of glass that stuck out from both of their bodies.
She constantly stayed awake, and the only times she slept she would be awoken by her own screams of anguish and terror. Her tears were more common than the water that was forced into her mouth.
The worst thing about it is that she had no family left, no one to take her in once she was ready to leave the hospital.
She was kept in the hospital for a long time, only a husk of the being she once was. She was empty, without emotional support.
So they wanted her to live with a psychologist, one that would take her in.
It took months for them to find someone who actually wanted the broken girl, but that fated day did come, nonetheless. The first person to come in was an elderly lady, her frayed hair grayed to the roots. It had a slight wave, but it was hard to tell since the few strands were incredibly thin. Her smile, something of warmth and love, looked like something only seen in movies. She looked overly friendly, greeting all the nurses and doctors outside the door before dusting off her thigh-length lavender skirt and sitting in a chair not too far from the bed itself.
Not too far behind the woman trailed a young boy, seemingly only about eight or nine. He had platinum blonde hair, not exactly neat but not exactly messy. It had a slight wave, akin to the grandmother, but only a couple inches long at best. His brows were furrowed, and his movements sulky as he complained to the old woman, his high cheekbones complimenting the pouty expression. His sea-green eyes were not smiling.
"Do we have to adopt a girl? I'd rather have a brother!" He groaned, slumping and plopping down onto a seat the farthest away from the young girl, who was still endlessly staring into what was not there.
The grandmother lightly knocked the boy up his head, her ever-smiling lips cornering downward slightly.
The elderly woman surveyed the girl, from the countless IV tubes to the scratches and dark circles under her eyes. Her wrinkled hand gently touched the pale arm of the juvenile, and the young girl's slack grey eyes, the color of a sliver of the moon against dark shadows, quickly darted to hers, not filling with any emotion whatsoever.
