the story of my life //PERMANENT HIATUS//

"Just stop pretending already."
"That you care, that you even like me the slightest bit. You don't have to protect me from them I'm fine. This. Is. Nothing."
Shut everyone out. That is the best way to keep away pain, right? Or did it just bring more?
|| Copyright © 2014 by Amy S. All Rights Reserved ||


2. Chapter One - Orphanage, hell, orphanage


I didn't complain as I was pulled up to this Shit building that had, in dull pink letters, “Ann's Orphanage."

I refused to speak to just about anyone unless absolutely necessary. The car stops and the taxi driver gets out to help me out. He was a middle aged man with a bushy mustache. He grabbed my bags and opened my door. I step out and walk behind him up the steps. We're greeted by whom I'm guessing is Ann. She has this smile plastered on her face that is obviously fake. I nod a thanks to the taxi man. “hi darling. You are Roxilon, right? I'm Ann." She says in a cheery voice that almost hurts my ears. I nod and walk in.

Oh God. All the girls here are wearing bright pastel colors. I groan quietly. I'm definitely going to stand out. I wear black. And chains around my waist. I wear black eyeliner to the max and put on heavy dark red lipstick. I was a natural blonde but I dyed my hair black. I had red, purple, and navy blue tips. After the door shuts behind me, all the girls heads turn to me. I'm used to it but I still hate being judged. I can  see it in their eyes. They all hate me. I'm okay with it. But it's more then a hate. It's a kind of hate that people go out of their way to tell me. I walk pass everyone to get to the hallway that leads to the rooms. I find the room I was given. It's in the back of the hallway and no one else is in it. I open it and quickly enter and close the door behind me. 

God. How can people be so perky if they were put up fort adoption ,had terrible parents, or had a parent die? Really though. Why is the world so happy? What's so amazing about it? Nothing. Nothing is the least bit cool about humans. All we do is hurt other people. All we do is hurt. Both doing and feeling. 

I look around my room and almost gag. The walls basically scream over-enthusiastic. The bedspread looks like it was meant for a hyperactive three year old. I pull them off and toss them in the corner. I pull out my bed things out of my bag. I put on the black sheet and black comforter. I grab my dark red pillow and put it on the bed. I sit on the bed and grab my iPod out of my back pocket. I turn on my music. I know this probably doesn't fit me at all, but I start listening to Disney songs. I slowly doze off and eventually fall asleep. 

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