I took a deep breath and sighed a little before starting our story.
"I guess I should really start when our parents died. I don't remember much of it, and everything else, I was told by this really kind woman from the orphanage Rose and I were placed in. She told me that our mother, Alice Martin, and our father, Jake Martin, were both really kind and nice and everything, and that we shouldn't be sad that they...they died on a level crossing. The gates had malfunctioned or something --no one really knew what happened, but as my parents were crossing, the train came and..." I looked at Rose to make sure she wasn't listening, then started to whisper, "and they got hit, head on, by the train." Rose was playing happily with her sand castle, as she always did on a beach, way back when the orphanage used to take trips there. After a moment of silence, and just daydreaming about my parents, I continued with my story.
"Then we were taken to an orphanage, back in Newquay, in Cornwall. It was a really nice orphanage, and Rose and I were both sad to leave it, but we were practically made to leave. We were taken home by our horrible adoptive parents, after maybe half a year of living at that orphanage. When we were home, and the social services weren't checking up any more, they started to show their true colours. They beat us, they never fed us --we had to make our own food, and the only food there was bread and beer. Water as well, if we didn't mind drinking out of the sink. The worst thing was, and you lot should know this too, is that Rose is diabetic. Type one, which means she needs and injection after every meal, one before bed -at eight o'clock- and blood tests regularly." I finished, and looked back at Rose, who was still playing with the sand.