Promised Land

[1] Here's A List Of All Of My Traumas, By Me

He's afraid of the rain.

He doesn't remember why he's afraid of the rain-- which is, for Ranboo, an unfortunately common thing. He doesn't remember why he's afraid of the rain, why it feels like it stings his skin as he runs quickly in the pouring rain to the nearest shelter, to wait out the rain. He doesn't remember why he stares out at it unblinking, his mind going numb and feeling like the static electricity that comes off the old TV in the basement of the orphanage that they use to watch old VHS movies on it when the Sisters are asleep.

But Ranboo is afraid of the rain, even though he can't help but watch it trail down his bedroom window as the dull light of his desk lamp illuminates the room just enough for him to read.

It's not an interesting book. The Sisters keep an eye on everything that they have, always, constantly-- most of Ranboo's clothes are tailored hand-me-downs from men that the Sisters know in their life, because once puberty hit Ranboo's limbs went through a taffy pulling machine and stretched out longer than he had expected, and he stood at a good, awkward, awful 6'6" tall.

But it's not an interesting book. He would have much preferred to check out The Golden Compass or Howl's Moving Castle, but those were books he would bury his nose in and read parts of in the library during his weekend trip, remembering the page numbers he left off on when the nuns decided it was time to round up all the children and get them back to the orphanage; instead, it's a book that the nuns had suggested to him, about the life of a saint that Ranboo didn't care much about at all.

He's old enough to be confirmed in the church now, and even though he knows the nuns aren't going to force him to go through it, they push him towards it with gentle nudges, giving him suggestions of books of saints that they think will entice him enough to go through with it.

But Ranboo doesn't... He doesn't know.

He's the oldest kid at the orphanage; everyone else is five or six or, at most, eight, other than him, no one has ever wanted to adopt him. He's the awkward helper with the younger kids, he's known how to change a diaper since he was eleven, he's helped with the Sisters' church lessons with the younger kids since he was twelve, most adults who come to the orphanage think that Ranboo is just a volunteer, not a child looking to find a home himself.

He's been at the orphanage since he was four and left outside of it during a rainstorm. Maybe that's where his fear of rain comes from-- maybe his parents abandoned him here. Wouldn't that be another cruel addition to his life?

Ranboo tries to focus on the book in front of him, but it's written so blandly. The Sisters think he is pious just like them, don't they? He knows all the prayers by heart, not because he is devoted to the religion but because it's the only thing he's been raised with.

Is it bad to question your faith?

Ranboo has been having a lot of those thoughts lately.

Is it bad to question everything you've ever known?

He flicks off the desk lamp and sits in the darkness for a moment. His fingers interlace in the same way that he's been taught to pray, but he just rests them in his lap as he leans back in the old desk chair and looks up at the ceiling.

His room is quiet. He hears a few quick loud footsteps down the hall; a few boys, roughhousing at night. He's old enough to get his own room, which is nice because he doesn't have to share with anyone, but it feels lonely to not have others sleeping in a bed not too far from his.

The younger kids are full of energy tonight. Someone was adopted the day before; usually, adoptions come in waves, and they're all hoping and praying to the Lord that they'll be next.