Loss

Chapter 1: The Orphanage

After what happened with Joshua I knew that I wasn't ever going to be a normal kid again. I don't think anyone who has seen something that gruesome could wake up the next day and act like their whole life was the same after that. It didn't help that it took my parents less than a month to decide that I wasn't worth the risk of having another one turn out that way. Mid-June I was dropped off at Windlow Orphanage. It was in another little town, on the opposite end of Ireland far away from my past life. It was a quaint building with a bit of foundational, and cleanliness, issues. I was assigned a room at the west end of the building where I met a few other boys who had been disowned by their families for various reasons. I realized quickly that I was not going to be taking a liking to anyone in my bunk, or in the orphanage for that matter. I was only 4 at the time but I was set in my ways and I had always been pretty reserved.

The orphanage was nothing special. We had meals twice a day with a snack in between, we would play outside when the weather allowed. My favorite part of those dreary days was school. I felt like I belonged there, I was smart, quiet, and the teachers liked me. While all the kids spent their time throwing paper airplanes and coloring I was doing math that even some of the older kids were struggling with. The teachers took notice of my academic stature and wanted to aid in its formation, so they enrolled me in a private school away from the other kids in the home. I felt so special. It felt like the first time anyone ever really cared to see me for me, for who I had become, and not for who I used to be.

The school was fun. I was allowed to be quiet and reserved and just do my work and not talk to anyone. I would come home from school and do my homework then sleep. I felt like life was pretty made. That's when I met her.

She was left on the porch one day while I was at school. She was just a baby probably around one. I was coming home one day and saw her tiny little bassinet on the front steps. I picked her up and brought her to the heads of the home. They called her Lily. She had beautiful blonde peach fuzz and a captivating smile. I liked this one.

I had this strange attachment to this abandoned child, she just reminded me of who I was when my parents gave up on me. I wanted to help the mothers with her whenever I could and I felt like I was being the best big brother I could be. We started to grow up together. At this time I was 7 and she, to the best of our knowledge, was around 3 or 4. We were inseparable, I called her TigerLily, like the flower. She liked flowers, but that wasn't the only reason for the nickname, that blonde little peach fuzz she had when she was dropped off was long gone and now she had a head full of fiery red locks and an attitude to match. She made me feel like I had a place. She was the only person I ever talked to, and her and I just clicked. I felt this need to protect her, defend her, be everything her parents didn't want to be. That's when the trouble started.

I was around 8 when people started to pick on Lily. She would assure me that it was ok and that they were playing but I refused to listen. The uncomfortableness that came when someone called her a name or pulled her hair grew in me. Then it developed into anger, then hate. It just kept growing and growing until one day I snapped. A kid named Cian was bullying her outside and to my dismay she told me it was fine and that she could handle it. I continued to read under the tree watching form afar for awhile. Then he pushed her. She hit the ground hard. That was the first time I can remember well, not being able to remember what I had done. The next thing I know Cian was on the ground crying with a bloody nose and my hands were covered in the same horrifying way his face was. I was moved into my own room after that day. They didn't trust me around the other kids anymore. Not even Tigerlily.