'Where's George?' I snapped at her. I couldn't believe they let a woman like her run this place: she was helpless. She didn't give a jot for people's feelings and only cared about her reputation. I could tell this orphanage was just a stepping stone to some award. Lots of money. Early retirement. Well that made her a very bad person: you can't just use a bunch of children as a stepping stone. Especially when we've already been trodden on excessively.
Life isn't so cheery in an orphanage: we're lucky to make it a week without anybody crying. Everything is so dull here, as if we're stuck in a rut. The Edwardian house is beautiful, but all of its beauty is hidden behind a mourning veil of sorrow and lost hope. I try to keep things ordered: they say that if you keep busy you have less time to think...to think about all the things that you wanted to scream into the open, the things that haunted you at night and restricted your sleep and made you want to tear out your hair so there would be a bigger pain to help you forget. I'm the oldest one here, but I've been here the shortest time: my mother died of cancer last year. I never knew my father. A part of me longs to meet him and another part of me hates his guts. It's bad enough being a teenager without death ravaging your hormones. And the fact that everybody wants to talk about it, but we're all too scared to admit it. So I've taken to making sure everyone is safe. If everything is ordered then that's one less thing to worry about.
She shrugged and I groaned loudly before slumping from the kitchen. I can't believe she doesn't keep track of the kids. George is five! The only child younger than him is Niomie, but Ellena always looks after her. I wish I had a sister.
I wish I had anyone.
I drifted upstairs. George hated her so the further he was from her, the easier it was for him to forget she existed, I guess. Just then I heard a commotion and a group of children ran past: they were too quick for me to identify everyone.
'What's going on?' I cried, exasperated.