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Description
1. Austra- Speechless.

     "Come on you clumsy idiot! Hurry!"
     I just roll my eyes as I continue my rapid assent up the spiraling staircase up to the dining room.
     "You better not make us late!" My sister shouts again.
     I make a clawing cat gesture with my hand, mocking her, saying that she's being bossy and using her usual drama queen attitude, all without even having to say anything myself.
     She just raises her eyebrows and taps her foot impatiently as she waits for me at the top, with her arms crossed.
     Let's just say my older sister… Well, she isn't exactly the loving type. Of course, somewhere deep down under that thick skin of hers, she loves me…but only because I'm her sister.
     After both of our parents drowned on a white water rafting trip, we were sent to this old, rough orphanage. She many times blames herself for their death. She often wakes up screaming and crying, calling their names.
     I was only four years old, so I don't exactly remember what happened. I was safe on the shore with my sister and some family friends, when suddenly, everyone around me looked terrified and began to panic. I had no idea that my parents' raft had just flipped over and they hadn't come up.
     My sister has been hardened for many years since the incident. And on top of it, those family friends we were with… They picked out this orphanage to send us to. There are so many other orphanages… So many better. Cleaner. Nicer. My sister could have sworn they hated us. Even when my parents were alive, they discussed about if anything happened to them, our "friends" would adopt us and take care of us (everyone has a "Plan B" these days).
     But no. They sent us to this dump.

     I finally reach the top of the stairs, and we both peel off to the dining room.  She thrusts open the door and we run inside. Our eyes go immediately like magnets to the old clock, hanging on one of the walls in this large, spacious room. Three minutes till five. We've barely made it in time for dinner. It's not much for a meal, but it's food.
     I pick up my skirt so I won't trip, and then I run as fast as I can towards the sink. I quickly turn the rusty handle, and a thin stream of icy cold water begins to flow out of the faucet. I hear the loud pitter patter as the water hits the bottom of the deep metal sink. I rinse my hands, slip the old bar of soap between my dirty fingers a few times, rinse them off again, and turn the handle off.
     I run my hands through my greasy dark brown hair. I need to bathe. I rub the soot away from under my eyes and wipe it on my dress. I go ahead and find my seat, and ready myself for assembly.

     A few minutes later, I hear the bell ring. The dinner bell. Assembly. I stand about a foot in back of my chair and stand up straight. In the room with me, are the rest of the girls at this orphanage, about fifty of us, each standing like I am, in back of their seats at this long, old table which has a white tablecloth draped over it. If you ever spilled any food or drink on it, you'd get the belt and be sent to your room for the rest of the day until the next morning. As you can imagine, this happens to many young girls every day. The people who run this nightmare think they can teach us manners and table etiquette this way. Well they can think again.
     There is absolute silence for a few seconds. And then Ms. Maryanne bursts through the kitchen door and everyone flinches. Ms. Maryanne is quite the busty old woman. She has a big fat mole on her left cheek and you can tell that she's had too much to eat.
     She looks us up and down the table through evil, squinting eyes. Then she begins to read the list of names off of her clipboard in which everyone answers with the simple word, "present".
     "Celia Dest."
     "Present."
     "Jennifer Eider."
     "Present."
      "Lucie Everheart."
     "Present."
      "Austra Featherstone." That's my name.
     Silence.
     Another girl, Kaitlyn Measy, shouts out, "What's a matter, girl? Can't speak?"
     My eyes fill with tears. I do not protest. Because she's right.
     I'm mute.

Description
1. Austra- Speechless.

     "Come on you clumsy idiot! Hurry!"
     I just roll my eyes as I continue my rapid assent up the spiraling staircase up to the dining room.
     "You better not make us late!" My sister shouts again.
     I make a clawing cat gesture with my hand, mocking her, saying that she's being bossy and using her usual drama queen attitude, all without even having to say anything myself.
     She just raises her eyebrows and taps her foot impatiently as she waits for me at the top, with her arms crossed.
     Let's just say my older sister… Well, she isn't exactly the loving type. Of course, somewhere deep down under that thick skin of hers, she loves me…but only because I'm her sister.
     After both of our parents drowned on a white water rafting trip, we were sent to this old, rough orphanage. She many times blames herself for their death. She often wakes up screaming and crying, calling their names.
     I was only four years old, so I don't exactly remember what happened. I was safe on the shore with my sister and some family friends, when suddenly, everyone around me looked terrified and began to panic. I had no idea that my parents' raft had just flipped over and they hadn't come up.
     My sister has been hardened for many years since the incident. And on top of it, those family friends we were with… They picked out this orphanage to send us to. There are so many other orphanages… So many better. Cleaner. Nicer. My sister could have sworn they hated us. Even when my parents were alive, they discussed about if anything happened to them, our "friends" would adopt us and take care of us (everyone has a "Plan B" these days).
     But no. They sent us to this dump.

     I finally reach the top of the stairs, and we both peel off to the dining room.  She thrusts open the door and we run inside. Our eyes go immediately like magnets to the old clock, hanging on one of the walls in this large, spacious room. Three minutes till five. We've barely made it in time for dinner. It's not much for a meal, but it's food.
     I pick up my skirt so I won't trip, and then I run as fast as I can towards the sink. I quickly turn the rusty handle, and a thin stream of icy cold water begins to flow out of the faucet. I hear the loud pitter patter as the water hits the bottom of the deep metal sink. I rinse my hands, slip the old bar of soap between my dirty fingers a few times, rinse them off again, and turn the handle off.
     I run my hands through my greasy dark brown hair. I need to bathe. I rub the soot away from under my eyes and wipe it on my dress. I go ahead and find my seat, and ready myself for assembly.

     A few minutes later, I hear the bell ring. The dinner bell. Assembly. I stand about a foot in back of my chair and stand up straight. In the room with me, are the rest of the girls at this orphanage, about fifty of us, each standing like I am, in back of their seats at this long, old table which has a white tablecloth draped over it. If you ever spilled any food or drink on it, you'd get the belt and be sent to your room for the rest of the day until the next morning. As you can imagine, this happens to many young girls every day. The people who run this nightmare think they can teach us manners and table etiquette this way. Well they can think again.
     There is absolute silence for a few seconds. And then Ms. Maryanne bursts through the kitchen door and everyone flinches. Ms. Maryanne is quite the busty old woman. She has a big fat mole on her left cheek and you can tell that she's had too much to eat.
     She looks us up and down the table through evil, squinting eyes. Then she begins to read the list of names off of her clipboard in which everyone answers with the simple word, "present".
     "Celia Dest."
     "Present."
     "Jennifer Eider."
     "Present."
      "Lucie Everheart."
     "Present."
      "Austra Featherstone." That's my name.
     Silence.
     Another girl, Kaitlyn Measy, shouts out, "What's a matter, girl? Can't speak?"
     My eyes fill with tears. I do not protest. Because she's right.
     I'm mute.