We all know "Madeline" right? The bright, cheerful and innocent orphan that went to a boarding school in France? Well, I am afraid to disapoint. But this is most certainly not that story. Samantha has lived her entire life on the streets. Fighting to live one more miserable day. Her life is one that has to stay hidden. So what happens when this girl gets taken in by a boarding school. With girls that want to know her story and will pry until they get it?
I am an orphan; no mother, no father; I am alone in this world. That is except for the nuns and teachers at The Sisters of Service.
Before, I lived in an orphanage; or to be more accurate, several. I was moved from one place to the next with little regard for what I wanted. The last one I was sent to was especially bad. I won’t bore you with the details of life in that place. All I shall say about it is this; there I became hungry enough, and desperate enough to beg and steal, and, despite becoming old enough for school there. I didn’t get any.
Do not be confused; I wanted to go, but the orphanage refused to send me. They would not pay. We were all, cold, hungry, scared and alone.
So, at the age of six, I left. Plain and simple. To this day I wonder if anyone in that place even noticed I was gone; or simply didn’t care. Either way, from that point on I was a street child, begging, stealing, doing whatever it took to stay alive for one more miserable day.
I became rather good at leading that kind of life. Within a year I knew which doorways were safe to sleep in, where the best places to beg were, which shops remained unguarded against those with light fingers such as myself; and most importantly, who to avoid.
So I managed to survive for days, which quickly turned to months and they soon turned to years. I could not tell you exactly how many years passed, but I think I was around twelve years old when things changed.
It was the coldest year on record, in particular it was the coldest winter on record and I was freezing. When I left the orphanage all I had was the clothes on my back. Those clothes amounted to one summer dress, one pair of underwear and a pair of sandals. All that time later, I no longer owned underwear, the dress had been replaced with a pair of pants and a long sleeved shirt that I had pilfered from an unsuspecting church. Yet, they were thin and could not protect me from the weather and so I slowly began to freeze.
Within a week I was shivering so much I could not steal. The safe doorways were taken twenty four seven because the police were not there to move people on. I became too weak to beg. Most importantly I could no longer avoid those that were best avoided.
That was the worst time of my life; but that is not important.
On the twenty ninth day I was near death and I knew it. I was delirious, seeing people and friends; some of whom were long dead. I knew I would soon join them.
My body was frozen and blue. My arms were permanently huddled into my armpits. I had felt neither my arms nor feet in almost two days.
I was walking, walking because that was all I had left that I could do. I knew, that as soon as I could not walk, I was dead.
At sunset my body became too week to walk and I collapsed and knew no more.