You look like you’re staring at something because your gaze is fixated on a glistening object barely hidden between the pavement’s weeds. Yet, you run your shoe over the object like nothing was there, your chest heaving with a sigh. The sun cracks over the mountains though the moon is still in sight and the trees wave at the passersby. Still, you choose to be absorbed in your feet, barely looking up at the stunning display.

The panorama of morning glistens, the dew dripping slowly from leaves; you feel the dampness against your skin, since you refused to wear your coat. Only the purr of a cat elicits a smile from your lips, a dimple forming on your right cheek. You bend down, feeling for the tabby, its tail flicking lazily as it awaits your hand.

“Puss,” you call, rubbing your hand over its ears. “Puss, puss.”

It seems to meow, “Got anything else to say?” but it stays anyway, taking delight in the affection you’re lavishing upon it.

“It’s the big day, puss.” Your words are heavy with dread. “Lots of couples are coming and they’re going to pick the child they like best. I’m the oldest, so it’s more unlikely that I’d be picked, I’m not as cute as the others. Then, there’s something else, a curse.”

The last sentence was withering, your brow creased and your lips twisted in disgust.

“Ever feel like you’re not wanted, puss?” Your slim fingers move to caress its chin. “Of course you wouldn’t, Miss Eleanor loves you, loves you like she would love a child.”

You seat yourself on the damp pavement, barely missing the cat’s swishing tail. You rest your head between your two palms, your fair hair falling from behind your ear. Your cobalt eyes are vacant, staring at the sun as its rays envelope you in its warmth.

“Ever wish you were born in a different family, puss?”

The cat purrs but you know it doesn’t understand.

“I do.”

The stands are set up clumsily, classroom tables standing on the grass. The children are playing, a show to enchant the adults that are to visit. Some girls are playing hopscotch, a few others swinging the ropes side to side as they chant rhymes for Double Dutch.

“One potato, two potato, three potato, four,” they recite. You can imagine the smiles on their lips and the laughter in their eyes as they jump in and out of the ropes.

The boys, they’re ignoring you because they’re playing a game, their voices high and excited. Boys were always so competitive.

You hear the voices of strangers. You imagine them smiling as they exclaim over the adorable children that run about. You can feel their curious gazes penetrating you when the thuds of their footsteps pass you. Pressing your hand against the sidewalk you realise that it was probably nearing twelve. Carefully, you help yourself up, careful not to trip over anything.

“What’s your story?”

The voice that queries you is calm with a slightly musical lilt. It’s rich and warm, in a welcoming way. You try to conjure an image of the owner but fail, for you have never actually seen such a person.

When you do not answer, the voice asks, “Why are you standing alone?”

You look towards the direction of the voice.

“Because I can do nothing else,” you answer, curtly.

“Why don’t you play with the other children?”

“They don’t want me.”

“Nonsense, you just have to walk up to them and introduce yourself.”

You look at her blankly. “Lady, I’ve been here for eleven years, don’t you think I’ve tried?”

She doesn’t reply immediately but eventually, she speaks. “You could be a loner.”

Firmly, you shake your head. “You don’t understand.”

Once again, silence falls between the two of you, only the noise of the background colouring the air.

You hear her steps click against the pavement. Perhaps, she is gone. She isn’t, though, and it perplexes you.

“You’re different,” she says. “I like that.”

You smile, as her footsteps echo in a distance, but your heart is heavy.

“If only everyone agreed.”

The orphanage felt emptier, the adoption had been a success, so the workers of the orphanage had proclaimed. You didn’t know how many were left. Perhaps, you were the only one.

You grimace slightly as you sit, once again, alone. The few who were left didn’t feel the pain as much as you did, they’re still young.

“There’s always next year,” they chimed, then they would giggle and scurry away, exploring every nook and cranny of the orphanage.

You close your eyes and run your thumbs in a circular motion over your forehead. You’re mumbling and your breaths grow heavier. Rolling down your cheeks are tears as you bite your lip till crimson is drawn.

Maybe, maybe, you start to wonder, “There’s no more reason for me to live.”

Hurriedly, you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes. With composure you stand and carefully make your way across the hall to your room. Your hands move quickly and your ears are keen, you’re careful not to fall.

It’s quiet in your room for a moment, only a few creaks can be heard. Then, the sound of the sheets tearing is audible and for a moment everything is silent. Through a crack, it can be observed, you’re standing on a stool feeling for the beam that hangs above you. Looping the strip around beam, you tie a knot. Fingers deft, you feel the sturdiness of the knot and beam. Standing on the tips of your toes, you balance yourself, almost like a beautiful ballerina.

Raps resound against the door and you ignore it, if only for a moment. The knocks get louder and louder until you eventually make your way towards the door and open it, just slightly, so the person can see you’re there.

“Sara,” says Miss Kendra, the caretaker of the orphanage. “Someone wants to adopt you.”

Your eyebrows lift in shock. “You’re sure?”

Miss Kendra huffs. “I wouldn’t lie about that now, would I?”

Cautiously, as if awaiting a trick, you step out from your room.

The same rich voice from the morning greets your ears. “I told you I knew you were special.”

Wary, you step towards the source of the voice.

“What about my blindness? What about my age?”

She chuckles. “Now, now, don’t make me change my mind. The paperwork should be alright, I take, Miss Kendra.”

You can hear the pleasure in Miss Kendra’s voice as she affirms the statement. With a slight smile, you accept the stranger’s arm as she leads you into your room to pack your bag.

My smile widens, my chest heaving in relief. You’ve never noticed me because I’m silent but I’ve watched you like a hawk. Now, my back is pressed against the wall, half laughing and half crying. Emotions well in my heart, from grief to joy.

After all, what mother wouldn’t like to see her daughter happy?

“Miss Eleanor,” says Miss Kendra, interrupting my stupor, “don’t you have something else to do?”

I nod meekly, pacing towards the kitchen, hiding my smile and tears from Miss Kendra.

Under my breath, I whispered, “I love you, Sara.”

Fin

Is this okay? I'm aware it's not prize-winning work but I hope it's good enough for my teacher. What do you think? Based on the song 'Nobody's Child'.

Review please. Feedback appreciated.