May 13, 1997

It was raining; everyone claimed that the rain was the tears of angels weeping the loss of two souls. I already know that angels don't exist, but if they did they wouldn't shed a single tear for my parents. Only the devil could mourn the loss of a man who touched his own daughter and a women who claimed said daughter was asking for it.

Some people are just evil, and they will infect everyone in their sight. I know that now.

The police are already questioning their deaths; even now at their funeral people are casting suspicious glares. The mummers and whispers already taking flight.

"Why isn't she crying?"
"What sort of child doesn't cry over their dead parents"
"If you ask me, that girl seems a little too at ease with her recent events."
"You think she could have done it?"
"Girl might as well killed her parents herself!"
"It's her fault."

"Abby?" I tilt my head to the left, a young man with curly red hair stood before me. "That's your name right, Abby?" He continued with an Irish accent.

"What do you want?" I asked dryly, looking him dead in the eye.

"I'm Mr. Carrigan, I'm looking into your parents death." He announced as he pulled out a police badge.

"Who do you think you are: Sherlock Holmes?" I mumbled looking at the mud on his shoes. There was no way they could tie me to the murder. That little girl, that thing did it.

"Abby, I'm sorry for your loss; Something about their death seems strange too me, I'm guessing you feel the same?" He guesses, My eyes darted up. There was no way this man could have guessed what had happened. His face changed the second I looked up. "Abby, I don't think some cut break cables is what killed your parents."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" I nearly screeched.

"I take care of situations such as this." He tried to explain.

"No!" I quickly turned and raced off. "I'm not talking to you, leave me alone."

The rain picked up, soaking everything it touched. The rain had ruined my dress, my pantyhose ripped, and my shoes covered in mud. Everything about it screamed orphan; but I'll be damned if I go to an orphanage, that government isn't doing anything but leaving me alone; the only thing the have done is send a social worker over once a week to check up on my well-being. Nobody cares, why should Mr. Carrigan care,

why should I care.