Not every 13 year old is accused of murder and found guilty but I was one such girl and my story is worth telling even if it happened years ago. I was abandoned by my mother at the age of two in front of an orphanage and I didn't take it well as I grew up. I had always been very resentful of what she had done to me and I took my anger out in different ways , sometimes even on other. So, I was the troubled kid in the system and bounced from one foster home to another. No family wanted to stay with me for long but I had learned to control myself and didn't pose much of a threat but my reputation was inked on paper. There was this family I stayed with for quite some time; it was just a husband and wife. They weren't one of those families which tried way too hard to make me feel at home or wanted to talk to me and acted like my parents. They gave me space and didn't bother much about me which was what I wanted. They lived their life and let me live mine. I liked it there and tried to give them no apparent reason to kick me out. But I knew they didn't like me or care for me at all, the monthly check was enough for them. One day I walked in on them having one of their usual fights. They fought a lot, over money, about affairs and I guess over just about everything. Sometimes they fought about whether to keep me there or not and at times like those, they hated having me around like I was invading their privacy so I eavesdropped and listen intently as their fight decided my future. I knew it very well that if they let me go then I would barely have a shot at living with yet another family so I never showed but somewhere inside I wished they'd decide to keep me. That day again they gave me that hostile look and cold stare which I was so used and was all I needed to get out of there. I went out in the backyard with my favorite book to my safe spot under that old oak tree. I went there whenever I needed to tune everything out. That's when the noises increased; I sighed as I picked up my book and tried to read. Suddenly, the shouting stopped and all went silent, I thought maybe they actually had stopped fighting but then I heard something that shook me. There was a loud bang like I had never heard before. I ran up the patio steps and through the screen door, only to confirm my worst fear, it was the sound of a gun going off. I felt nothing but shock as I saw my so called "Foster father" Splayed on the floor with his shirt soaked in blood and a pool forming around him. My mother was standing right beside him with a gun in her hand- which I never knew they had- and an expression that spelled out what had happened there. Her face showed terror but at the same time I think I saw a little relief and satisfaction there. While I was trying to take it all in make sense, something weird happened. When my mother saw me her eyes widened and she ran into the kitchen, came out wiping the gun and placed it in my hands, I was too addled to resist. Next thing I knew I heard sirens and there were police around. My mother cried hysterically as she told them a fabled tale of what had happened and I just stood there like someone had sewed my lips. She then positively glared as she pointed her finger at me and at that time I could feel the anger building up inside me as I got blamed for yet another thing I didnt do . They took me away, no matter how many times I screamed that I didnt do it. The only crime I was guilty of was to not feel sorry for his death. I don't know what went down in the courts but I was put in a juvenile correctional facility and met with a therapist twice a week. When I came out finally, after years of staying in that dump, I felt a need for revenge but that woman who had framed me had already paid for her deed. I learnt she died a painful death, I don't know how or when and I didnt care. That incident left a scar on me that I know wont ever heal; it's the mark of my dark years but what haunts me is not that but the fact that my innocence will forever remain unknown. 