Giselli Reschke

My little roly-poly

I woke with a start. You would think that I would be used to the loud banging on the chipping green on my door, but for the 12 years I’ve lived at this orphanage I never have. I sat straight up and went through my typical morning routine. It was 7:30 AM. I was hardly aware of what I was doing; sliding on my yellow and white plaid skirt, that went just below the knees how Harlem liked it. I made a sour face at the thought of the brute.