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The day was normal, for being summertime. She sat by herself next to the orchard, singing to herself and dreaming up stories of unicorns, kittens and rainbows, until Matron Joanne yelled at her for dreaming and sent her to play with the other children, which was awkward.
The only person she was somewhat become close to was Sammy, a little five-year-old who shared her teddy bear with her. He was an adorable boy, but being different ages they had different schedules, since at the orphanage everything was well planned in order for everything to work smoothly.
She also knew her sister, Carrie, but that was different. They had never been close. Carrie was already twelve and was more rebellious and unacceptant of what fate had granted her. She was much taller, but her looks were similar to Michelle's.
However, in terms of character, they were total opposites. Carrie was strong-willed while Michelle was much weaker in that sense- which meant Carrie had received many more blows. She dealt with it better, though... she didn't accept it as normal and she answered back to her parents, attempting to run away often and taking action.
She had been, in fact, the one to talk to the police.
Michelle shivered. She could remember that day vividly, three months and two weeks back...

* Flashback *

"You greedy, greedy child!"
Michelle had been reaching to grab some candy, but her hand had been intercepted by none other than Bertha Porter.
"I- I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't mean to be greedy."
"No, and I'm going to make sure you never are again, too." Bertha Porter smiled an evil smile, which made Michelle feel sick to her stomach with "anticipation". Not.
She knew what was coming, it had happened before.
However, this time was different.
Michelle could remember with sickening detail how Bertha swung her hand in the air, and she squeezed her eyes shut preparing for the blow which was sure to follow.
However, the next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor and Carrie was by her side. She was sobbing loudly and yelling.
"You killed her! I'm going to turn you over to the police! I've put up with this long enough, Bertha Porter!" she shouted with rage evident in her voice.
She was dead? Michelle felt confused. If she was dead, why could she feel the sharp pain in her head, and why was she lying on the floor? Shouldn't she already be in heaven?
It really didn't make any sense, and she felt more puzzled and in more pain every second that passed.
"You wouldn't dare!" Bertha hissed. "Anyhow, she was too much of an expense."
"How dare you be so heartless? This is your child, Bertha Porter. Your own flesh and blood and you treat her like she's garbage. We don't deserve that, Bertha!" Carrie yelled, grabbing the phone in a hurry while Bertha stuck her arm out trying to snatch the phone out of her daughter's hand.
Carrie kicked her mother like a horse, momentarily making her lose her balance, and she shakily dialed a number that she'd come to know by heart, that she had learned so that when the right moment came she could turn her parents over to the police, like she knew she should.
"Stop that!" Bertha yelled and stuck her hand on her daughter's mouth so she couldn't speak, but Carrie bit her fingers.
"You..." Bertha began to curse her own daughter and the day that she'd had her, sitting down on the couch. She then smiled. "They aren't going to believe you, anyway. You're just twelve years old, who in his right mind would believe a twelve-year-old over a thirty-year-old?"
"Hello... yes, my name is Carrie Porter..." began Michelle's sister.
Michelle still laid on the ground, doing her best to stay still, hoping that that way she would receive any more kicks or blows from her mother, who obviously thought she was dead.

* End of flashback *

They had believed her, and even more when they'd seen the evidence: eight-year-old full of bruises and with a concussion, twelve-year-old also with bruises and with two broken ribs?
It was an easy case.
Within several hours they were taken to the orphanage, where they were to stay momentarily. However, it had taken only a month for their parents to be proven guilty and sent to prison, so they were basically orphans.
Michelle preferred it that way. She had a sure meal, no beatings, her own bed, and many other children to play with and talk to. In theory.
She still felt the same way she had at home. Empty. And confused.
What was normal and what was not? A psychologist had tried to talk to her about such things, but for the eight years of her life Michelle had been taught things that it wouldn't take a day to reverse. In fact, it would take many years to heal from those deep wounds, both physical and emotional, that her so-called parents had created.

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This is the music for one last cry
This is a prayer that tomorrow will
Help me leave the past behind
It's a song for the unloved

Song for the unloved, Backstreet Boys.