Blood Rising

"Parker, PARKER! Wake up already and get to your chores"

I woke up with a start and glanced around, eyes barely open. I found myself staring at Mrs. Furrow, the caretaker, with her black eyes, yellow, snaggle toothed teeth, and messy brown hair. A lovely sight for when you've just woken up.

"I'M GOING, Jesus Christ.," I said pulling off the sheet.
"This place doesn't clean it self you know. Filthy orphans, they can never do anything right," she said under her breath.

"Stupid hag, why can't she clean anything for once? But no, I have to clean, watch after the other 10 kids, and clean some more while she just sits in her room watching her soap opera re-runs and popping Bon Bons in her mouth. Some caretaker she is." I muttered to myself.

I walked over to the mirror across from my cot and took a good stare in it, as I do every day. I ran my fingers through my thin black hair and tousled it, much better. I was your average fifteen year old: skinny, white, brown eyes with black hair, nothing special. The only thing that wasn't normal was me never meeting my parents.

Everyone told me they just dropped me off at the orphanage and left without saying a word. "Probably druggies," people always whisper. But who cares what people think.

I walked over to my small wardrobe next to my cot and pulled out my towel and clothes. The only things orphans got were a cot with one pillow and a dirty sheet, small wooden wardrobe that's falling apart, and some ratty clothes from Salvation Army about twice a month. I walked to the bathroom I get to share with the others, preparing myself for the daily screaming and whining. Empty. I had the whole place to myself for a change. I undressed, took a 5 minute shower, and quickly dressed. I threw on a plain, faded black shirt, blue jeans, and beat up converse. The usual.

"Parker, you better be ready! Or some one's not getting dinner tonight!" Mrs. Furrow screamed, marching up the stairs outside the room.

I shoved my stuff in the wardrobe and ran into the hallway, grabbing the broom by the door with me. "Yes Mrs. Furrow?" I asked, acting like I've been there all along.

"Oh, well, just keep working." she said, clearly taken aback.
"That's right, stupid witch, keep walking," I said under my breath.
"WHAT?!"
I turned around to see her still in the hallway with a stupid, confused look on her face.
"Oh, nothing.....nothing."
"Crazy kids.....," she muttered, "Oh, Mr. Conory wants to see you, something about people wanting you. I don't know. Must be a mistake anyways, who would want you?" she cackled at the thought and entered one of the other rooms.

I ignored the comment and flew down the two flight of stairs as fast as I could.
"People? What people? Sure we've had people come by to see what kids were here, but none of them payed any attention to me," I thought, trying to control the many other thoughts in my head.

I jumped from the last two steps and ran across the lobby to the door to the office where it read in bold, black font: Mr. Conory. Head Of Affairs. Breathing hard, I knocked on the door and walked in, trying to act casual.

"Um, Mr. Conory? Mrs. Furrow said you needed to see me?"
"Ah yes, come in," he answered, looking up from some paperwork.

Mr. Conory was really the only person I've met who is nice. Mrs. Furrow is a bitch, the other kids are all annoying brats around ten years old, and I've never really met anyone else. We're not allowed to go outside except for special occasions. i guess it's because e reminds me of what a grandpa would be, he has thin white hair, wrinkles on his tired face, and a light, soft voice.

"We've had some gentlemen stop by this morning asking about you." he said smiling.
"Me? But who would ever ask about me?"