A Cliche Bully Story

The Farrington Orphans

~2 weeks later~

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at a photograph of Kevin that his parents gave to me for the funeral. My eyes sting of pain, my heart ache, my hatred for Porsha grew.  I lost control of my emotions and slammed my hands on the picture frame, the object flew across my room and landed on the floor. I threw myself off my bed and crouched into a bug sobbing. I was unable to sleep, eat, or get out of bed ever since Prom. I receive texts from Kalani every minute. Some, I left on read while others that included the name "Kevin" I deleted. My parents are insisting of getting me therapy to cope with my loss. I hardly spoke to them since we left the hospital. They are in need of questions. But on the bright side, many of these mysteries of Kevin's death will be unraveled at Porsha's trial in a week.

Yes! Bitch has been arrested. She has been questioned by authorities after dumbass
Jade spoke out about Porhsa's plan of killing a student.

But fuck her. I had questions of my own. How did I manage to cause a mini earthquake in my gymnasium? That had to be Kalani. But she was standing in the back of me, pushing me out. It happened right after I screamed at Porsha. Maybe it was an affect of the spell that transformed me into beauty? This has been bugging me since Prom. I slowly got off from my dusty bedroom floor, pulling myself on to my feet. My eyes darted right to my Black Prom Dress, hanging on the outside of my closet door. It can't be the dress that granted me powers, that's impossible. My phone buzzed madly on my bed. I uncovered the sheets and saw a text from my mom.
Coming home a little late.

My mom never went in depth with my adoption story. Who are my real parents? I walked into their room. All my documents are in their closet. I rummaged through many of my mom's shoe boxes, my dad's tie collection, some old work files, photographs of my parents' wedding. I stumbled upon a dusty brown box with a golden latch. Found it! I unlocked the thing and found several pictures of me as a toddler. Me on the swing set with my mom at the orphanage with the words she's the one written in the back. Another picture of all of us in front of a car with the sentence taking her home.

I quickly examined them, flipping each photo to the back to see if I had any clues. Nothing. Just mini scrap books of my life with my foster parents. This led to another question. Where was I born? I collected all the photographs and returned them back in the box. My mom keeps all of our medical documents in a large folder. I kept on rummaging through more supplies till I found it. I flipped through the pages until I saw mine. Most of it included recent vaccination records. After skimming through the thick pages of my doctor appointment records, something caught my eye. My birth certificate.  My weight, my height, eye color, blood type. That was it. It read that I had a very rare blood type. I couldn't make out what is said. This paper is 17 years old. Messy pen marks and dark smudges covered the information.

I began to second guess myself. I meant people in my life with rare blood types. Everything seems normal about them. I tried to make out what the writing said. My birthplace was New England. That surprised me. My parents always said I was born in Washington D.C. But why? They are honest about everything. They straight up told me I was adopted when I was 8. Why lie about something so simple? I kept on reading the page. Another information struct me. How did I not see it before. Written in the top in a bold font was my name. Blaire Circé Farrington.

After the news, I knew that my parents changed my last name since they adopted me. I never thought much of it until now. I unclipped my documents from the folder, quickly placed everything back in the closet, then took the papers to my room.

I sat on my bed, covering me legs with my soft pink blanket. I reached over to get my computer and typed... 'Farrington'

I got a hand full of results. Many led to an article of the Farrington Cruise at our local beach. A cafe with this name. Some celebrities that died before I was born. I kept scrolling down. Nothing interesting.

I took a closer look at my birth certificate. Born on December 13, 2002 in New England, Massachusetts.

Boston Massachusetts. The Salem Witch Trials took place in Massachusetts. There is no way that's real. All of those women were accused. All born normal.

I typed into google... Orphanages in Boston Massachusetts

Many articles and maps from "Home for Little Wanders" came up. I clicked on a few. Children with matching clothes running around the playground. Photos of their rooms filled with toys. Photos of each child with a short description about them. This looked way different to the orphanage I was in. None of the houses match the picture I saw.

I went back to the box carrying photographs. Maybe I'm missing something. The only person who could help me are my parents. But I don't want to tell them that I've been snooping in their room. But, what about Kalani? I ignored 55 of her texts while I was in mourning. She's the only witch I know.

I typed her last name, Zacred into the search bar. I got a Wikipedia site on the word, Sacred with an S. A couple church websites and a cemetery. Forget it. Maybe that never happened. What if I some how hallucinated my powers of shaking the gymnasium? I was in shock after all. But others saw my hallucinations. Just before I plan on giving up, I saw an article published on the date April 18, 1997. The oldest article here. I clicked on it. Strangely, it took 3 minutes for the whole thing to load.

My first impression to this site was a black and white photo of women, all wearing a dark collar dress. The caption under it read "March 24, 1997, the Lunar Eclipse in Boston, Massachusetts"

My birthplace. That's a coincidence. The page mainly summarizes the lunar eclipse. There was a second photo underneath. 3 women wearing that same dress and 2 men standing behind them. One, was carrying a baby. I zoomed into her. The women talk, dark long hair with a worn out face. The baby, wearing a necklace and a vibrant red headband holding a doll. I've seen that before.

The doll looked vaguely familiar. I flipped through the photographs of me as a toddler. There it was. Me on the swing set, my mom in the back pushing me. I had the same replica of the doll in my hand. I lost that doll ever since the yard sale last summer.

I typed in... Lunar eclipse in the late 90s.
Websites on the blood moon popped up. There on the bottom was the same article that I saw. A group of people of all ages and gender stood in the middle of the forest, looking up at the night sky. The caption read
Celebrating the blood moon. Thinking of our fallen sisters who laid here frighten and accused. Our lucky night. Praying for the Orphans in need.

I got an answer.
I went into the tab and typed...Farrington Orphans in Massachusetts.