Writing Prompt Response: Adopted

Short Story3



I took a few steps back, trying to remain silent but I was struggling to believe what I had just heard.  Adoption?!  Surely this could not be true. I was eleven years old now, and I had long since learned that no one wanted an eleven year old girl.  They all wanted perfect little babies that giggled and drooled in their sleep.

The hallway was dark and all the other children were asleep, but I had heard the car pull up to the orphanage and had quietly crept out of my room to find out what was going on.  I was the oldest child in the orphanage, and had been there for several years now.  It was always up to me to find out what was happening.

All the other children looked up to me.  I was the strong one, the one that did not care if I was adopted.  I helped them work through their fears and, one by one, they had started to sleep better at night.  My work here was important, even if the adults did not see it that way.  Sure, I could be nosy and I often found myself in places considered out of bounds, but that was what the oldest was meant to do.  The others were too young to risk it.

Now though, they were talking about adoption.  I could not leave the others! They needed me!  Who else was going to look out for them and keep them out of trouble?  Who else was going to convince them that everything was going to get better one day and they just had to live life the best way they could for now?

It was decided.  I would not go.  I could not go!  I silently stepped back up to the crack in the door to peer through at the family talking with the headmistress.  I needed to learn everything I could about them in order to make sure they no longer wanted me.


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