Emma's POV

Fuck my life.

Just, fuck it.

I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe I'm an orphan… Again. And it's all my fault.

My hand was shaking, Ok?

I felt awful about having a gun in my hands in the first place.

Not to mention that my brother was about to get raped and I was in a really bad place… But I never intended on killing him. I wanted to shoot his bottom-side or his foot or heels or even his lower back, but nothing that would be lethal. Then Jack and I would run off and get the police together, and I could throw my arms around him and we could walk home together and never see them again.

But no.

No.

I had to crack under the pressure. And I hit him right in the heart, like I was actually aiming for the perfect shot.

And the authorities just had to come after us.

I'm lucky Jack was able to think fast, though.

But I'd rather be dead than be here. In this prison cell called District 7.

I'm a record-setter, I stayed in that awful orphanage so long I literally grew up and was forced to take over as the orphanage mom. All the dreams I had were crushed, all because I can't aim a gun.

And now I'm stuck here. I'll never ever forgive these damn demon-kids for how they always used to treat Jack and me. Well, it wasn't these kids, but all orphanage kids are the same, right?

I'm almost glad to be whisking them all away to the gay couples.

They can know how it feels to be molested, just like Jack did, and I had to watch.

I'm kind of losing my mind without him, I think. But I don't even care because I like it like this.

Well, far from like it. But getting rid of these hell-bound children absolutely makes my day complete.

I miss Jack. So much. I can't help thinking that he's still out there somewhere and we might be able to reunite someday.

But it's in vain.

He's either far far away from me or dead.

Or both, because Heaven's a pretty faraway place.

There's not a single doubt in my mind that Jack's there. It's so unlikely that he's even alive right now. I wonder if he still has my ribbon, wherever he is. I mean, if he's dead, he won't have it anymore. But if he's alive, I sure hope he still has it.

I still have the cuffs of the shirt he wore that day. I keep them with me all the time, not even caring if it's weird.

I hate being a stupid orphanage mom. It's the worst job in the world.

I sit at the front desk during the day while the little kids play and sometimes even zone out.

Thinking of Jack makes me sick, and I put my head down on the table…

Suddenly I feel a tug on my dress. "Miss Emma?"

Glaring, I sit up, "What do you want, snot?"

The little girl looks up at me with pretty turquoise eyes and her lower lip trembles.

"My dolly broke," she says quietly, swallowing tears and holding up a rag doll.

"So?" I ask, unamused.

She blinks away a tear, "They stole it from me and threw it all around and I couldn't get it then it broke."

I'm taken back to a time when I was her age… Maybe even younger.

They did the same kinds of things to us when Jack and I were kids.

When I look down at her, she cringes like I'm going to punch her: or worse.

Instead, I pick her up and put her on my knees, "Let's see about your doll."

She smiles, showing me the place in which the doll's leg is torn.

"Come on, Kiddo," I say, leading her back to my little bedroom.

I sit at my desk and turn on a lamp. Carefully, I take a needle and thread from my dresser and all the memories of home came flooding back to me.

It wrenches my heart and I blink tears out of my eyes as I shakily finish stitching the doll.

I turn around and see her standing quietly in the doorway, just where I left her.

She quivers still like I'm going to cut her doll's head off.

I walk back to the doorway and hold it down to her. "There," I say, "All fixed."

Her delicate little fingers pluck the doll from my hand and she examines it.

"Thank you, Miss Emma!" she says happily, hugging my leg.

"No, thank you," I tell her, "You helped me remember where I came from."

I was a better orphanage mom after that.

Not perfect (nobody is) but I got better. I actually tried to learn names and tried to care, but the little girl with the turquoise eyes is still my favorite.

I learned her name is Genevieve. She has dirty blonde hair that cascades past her shoulders in light curls.

I'm in my room one night, sleeping, when I hear a small, "Pssssstttt."

I look up and there she is, rag doll dragging along the floor.

"Wh…What?" I ask, sitting up and turning on a lamp.

"I had a bad dream," she whispers.

Of all the things I've been going through, to be honest, nightmares isn't one of them.

I lift her up on the bed, "Aw, sweetie. What about?"

She swallows hard, "Mommy and Daddy."

"What happened?"

She looks at her feet, "Tree fell on Daddy. Mommy picked me up and put me on the doorstep," she says, pointing towards the exit." Tears fall down her already stained cheeks, "Why did Mommy do that?" she squeaks.

"I don't know," I say, stroking her hair.

"I thought Mommy loved me!" she cries, "Mommy said she loved me!"

"Maybe Mommy will come back," I say.

She shakes her head, holding out a piece of paper to me.

"Mommy gave this to me."

I take it from her little fingers and read it out loud.

This is my daughter Genevieve. Her birthday is a week from today, July 4. She will turn 4. Her father was killed, and I just can't stand to see her around anymore. Hopefully when I get over the grief, I'll be able to readopt her, but until then, take care of her.

Signed, Isabel Castello

"How old are you now?" I ask gently.

"Six," she says, frowing.

"Oh, Genevieve," I say quietly, picking you the girl in a hug, "I'm so sorry."

"My dolly is the last thing Mommy gave me," she says, "And she told me that it would always remind me of home."

"I'm really sorry, honey."

She sits in my bed and twirls a lock of hair around her finger. "Tell me something happy."

I think about it for a second.

"Every day's a brand new day. The sun comes out, abandons the last night. You can always start over."

I swallow hard.

"Do you believe that?" she asks.

A fresh tear rolls down my cheek and I finally face the fact that I'm wrong.

I'm a hypocrite.

How can I tell Genevieve these things when I can't even face it myself?

"I do now," I finally make myself answer.

"We can start over together?" she asks hopefully.

"We can start over together," I say with a nod.

And she smiles. And I smile.

I really did start over. Both of us really started over.

But Genevieve held on to her rag doll, and I held on to Jack's cuffs, just to hold on to our pasts.

I can't believe that such a little girl could change me like this.

The revolution changed my life forever.

The first bomb exploded on our District with a boom.

The kids in the orphanage released into havoc.

"Sssh!" I say desperately, "Listen. We have to get out of here. Everyone link hands, now," I say, alarmed.

Everyone makes a chain with their hands. "You all stay there," I whisper, "I'll go see what's going on. "

"Wait!" Genevieve says, but I leave and shut the orphanage door.

I run into a strong guy with dark hair and brown eyes.

"Woah!" he says, "Sorry!" He helps me up, looking just as shell-shocked as I am.

He takes my hands, "Come on. We'll get you to safety."

"Wait," I say, "There are kids in my orphanage!"

He nods and we run there together.

"Come on, kids," he says quickly and everyone runs after us.

Another bomb explodes, and I hear screams.

"You're Ok, you're Ok," I say quietly to my kids, as we run.

"MY DOLLY!" Genevieve says suddenly, tears in her eyes, "I LEFT HER!"

"You have to forget!" I yell sternly but she tears her hands from the others and runs after it.

"GENEVIEVE!" I say, running after her, but it's too late. A bomb falls by her and takes her life with it.

"We have to keep going," the general says, "To save the others."

He pulls me along and I wail with agony.

I can't believe it. The only joy and hope I had left is dead now. Dead and gone.

I'm pushed up the ramp to the hovercraft and stumble along blindly. Then I sit in the corner and sob.

This is awful.

I shouldn't have let her go.

It all happened in the flash of an eye.

Then I hear it.

In a voice slightly deeper than I last remember, "Emma?!"

I stand up, looking around. I must be delusional.

Then I see him.

Slightly taller than I remember, and slightly bulkier, but his hair is still the same ginger red and his eyes are the same mossy green.

"JACK!" I scream, and tackle my twin in a hug, crying and screaming in excitement. I don't even know what to feel at this moment.

"EMMA I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S YOU!" He squeezes the air out of me and I can't wipe the grin off my face, or the tears out of my eyes.

I bury my head in his shoulder, crying both tears of grief and happiness. I'm an emotional wreck at this point.

"I can't believe I found you," he says, grin obvious through his voice.

"Me neither," I croak.

He doesn't let me go for a long time.

I wouldn't want him to.

This is one of the best: yet worst: days of my life.