Pricked

9

     Orphan never seemed like a bad word until I became one. As I sit and stare at my home my vacant empty home, the word orphan sounds like the most horrible curse in the world. "Orphan." I say it a few times, each time catching in my throat.

Parentless. Homeless. What words could be worse? Prostitute. Sociopath. Murderer. Orphan. Nope orphan still sounds the worst.

"You want to go in? Make sure I got everything Harriet?" I look back to Darius, his arm still in a sling from the gunshot wound. He is my new family. They are my new family, Mitch holds a stuffed animal of mine and brings it to me. But forever and for just that moment, I was and would forever be an orphan.

The priest comes back the next day and prays for me, I can't help but roll my eyes, this is pointless and a complete waste of time. But he still prayed on, for the girl that is broken, bruised, cursed and unknown.

"I'm a thief, a rat, a nobody, I do not deserve your prayers" I say but they keep praying anyway. They pray for healing, and guidance, they prayer for the doctors to give them knowledge and hope to continue on. I haven't prayed in a very long time. They pray for my family in hopes that they will find me, but they will only find me in death. I stopped praying when it no longer worked for me. I don't think God will help me now that I have given up on him.

They left and a part of me hoped they would never come back, that they would stop making me relive my past. But another part of me hoped they would return and continue to pray for me. Even though I don't deserve it.

"Hello" My eyes race to the door and I can't help but hope its Mitch. I barely excite the idea before Dr. Arren Greyson opens the door and fully steps in reveling his slightly freckled face, as he enters my room. He leaves the door open a crack. I can see the maids and guards past, back and forth as he sets up for the day.

"I still don't know your name, what would you like to be called?" He asks me this every time he comes, which I find humorous because no other doctor cares to know who I am. "Feel free to wake up and tell me your real name at any time" his humor is a good distraction from all of this "but I have a few more ideas on what I would like to try to call you..." I inch closer to him, usually the names were typical and boring or ridiculous and outrageous and made me laugh so hard I thought I would pee myself, but ghosts don't expel bodily fluids.

"Esmerelda? Elphaba?" I break out laughing and fall back to the floor, today was outrageous and ridiculous.

"What kind of names are those?" I ask picking myself up off the floor. "Now you really must be grasping at straws. Do you know anyone with those names? Or are they from one of those books you read so often?"

"Okay..." he smiles to himself a little chuckle breaks though his composure. His soft eyes look up at me and then turn down with sorrow. "A story first," he says shaking away his worries "to give me more time... to think of better names, more realistic names." He adjusts his glasses and reaches into his bag to grab an old book. He always brings a book. He will start with taking my vitals as he tells me of his day then as the fluid drips into my body he tells me a story from a little book he brings with each time. I've never understood reading. Why so many people like it and spend hours reading about what other people think or why they are so invested in the characters' lives as if they were their own.

"Once upon a time" he starts, but puts the book back on the bed next to me.

"More fairy tales Arren?" I ask "don't you read any horror or thrillers? Something less, I don't know... magical?" I plop down next to him. As if he heard me he gives me a reason for his choice in stories. He is reading a fairy tale because he says my predicament is fairy tale worthy. I think through that for a moment and watch him work.