One Day

A New Friend

It all felt so sudden.

And well... It was.

Tommy suddenly had a place to call home for a while. A person to take care of him, it felt nice. Niki took him in at that very moment, he felt like a burden and wanted to help her as much as he could but Niki told him to go have fun.

So here he was (once again) wondering through the town though he didn't want to venture too far so he stayed in a plaza near it. This plaza was around half the size of the main and less busy, though kids still played in it. Honestly, Tommy wanted a funny plaque on this bench like the one in the main plaza but unfortunately, there was none.

Tommy sat on the plaque-less bench and ate his donut.

So much has happened since he got here and it's only been two days. He ran away, met two strangers (who were pretty cool), slept outside, started to get money, got in a fight, met two more strangers (who were not that cool), escaped from the head police officer, and he met Niki (his new aunt). How could life get any better?

People were kind here, greatly outnumbering the bad. People smiled, even while working. Kids played and helped anyone who needed to help, stopping immediately to help someone. They had fun. Rewarded for helping someone because they wanted to help.

It made him think of the orphanage back in Larnwick. The kids were not happy. Parent-less, family-less, and love-less. The kids who arrived with siblings were the lucky ones, at least they had a family to go to. Kids were not rewarded for helping because they could. Rarely rewarded for doing what they needed to be, to do.

It's a lot on kids to have them sit in a room all day or work/clean for the entire time they were awake. They didn't get to have fun, kick a ball, play tag, or play hide and seek. It was unfair. Tommy always felt jealous of the kids who got adopted, who got a family, a home to go to at the end of the day. A place to call home.

He'd given up on that dream.

When he was thirteen he noticed that it was always the little kids. Eight and younger, rarely did it go over. Nobody wanted anyone older than that, they wanted a cute little kid, not a young teenager. He remembered laying in bed while listening to his roommate's snore when he came to the realization that he wouldn't get adopted. It hurt, it crushed him. But what could he say about it? He was just a kid, it didn't matter if he said it was unfair or not.

He resented the people who said that one day, one day he'd find a family. Big or small, they'd find him.

Sometimes he wondered if his parents were dead and how. Other times he wondered if they were alive and gave him away because they didn't want him. He hated those thoughts and he knew he wouldn't get an answer. Not until he was eighteen at least. They kick you out then, just before everyone says goodbye to you, just before they tell you how you got there.

He didn't want to know. A part of him did but he wouldn't admit it.

He was away from that place. That bland, crowded, tiny place. It wasn't home. Home was somewhere you felt safe, home was a place with loved ones. The orphanage was not that place.

The orphanage was large but felt small, at least to him. Food was mostly the same, gruel. With a bread roll on Sundays. Gruel was (basically) watered-down soup or thin porridge. Flour, rice, and millet were the only flavors they had. At least he had food.

At least he didn't know what it was like to starve either. He saw kids who would growl at anyone if they glanced at them or near them. Some would actively try to take others' food. It was always particularly bad on Sunday. Bread Sunday.

He was also glad that he didn't remember his family. Some kids watched their parents die, others watched as their parents stopped caring about them... Those were the ones people didn't usually adopt. The traumatized ones especially.