Where They Will Be [PUBLISHED]

Part Two

Dear Reader,

I have a story- well, actually, it's more of a confession- to make. By the time you are reading this I would already be long gone from this world. I just hope that my last words might reach someone and that someone would forever remember my words.

It was raining harshly that day. People were rushing back as fast as they could to avoid the disaster of traffic. I was coming back to the dorms after my last class. I could barely see where I was going. The roads were slippery and the puddles mounted three inches high. My umbrella was useless. The rain still somehow managed to seek its way to drench me.

I was trudging back through the mud, my hair whipping around my face, and that's when I came upon a little boy, no older than 4, huddled by a wall. The rain had drenched his clothes to his skin, chilling him to the bones. He looked so small, so weak, so fragile sitting there, curled into a tight ball, as if that would somehow protect him from the heresy of rain.

I paused and went up to him. I bent down and used my umbrella to shield some of the rain from him. He looked up and his distant eyes stared up into mine, blankly.

I will never forget that blank, empty, hollow stare of the boy's. It was almost haunting and I could feel it deep into my soul, drawing out all my fears and weakness.

I willed myself to pull out of his eyes and gave a kind smile.

"Hello," I found myself saying above the loud rumbling. "What are you doing here? It's raining so hard. Where are your parents?"

The boy continued to stare at me with those eyes as if he didn't hear me.

"What are you doing here all alone?" I repeated, a little louder, just in case he couldn't hear me the first time.

The boy gave me one more look-over and said, in a raw raspy voice that sounded almost like an old man's, "I don't have a mommy and a daddy."

At first I didn't comprehend his words. Then I understood and I retaliated. "Oh! Is that why you're here all alone?" I asked.

The boy took a moment before nodding slowly. I asked, "What is your name?"

He went silent, brooding. Then he said: "James. Just James." I smiled to myself and held out my hand.

"Well, James, my name is Emily. Come with me," I said. "You don't have to be here anymore. I know of a place where you can live. It's a place for kids like you."

The boy looked doubtful. "A place for kids like me?" he repeated, his voice shallow. I nodded. "That's right. It's an orphanage down the street. I heard that it has good quality over there. Would you like to go there?"

The boy stared at my hand for a long time, his forehead creased in concentration. Finally, he took my hand, softly and shyly. I stood up and pulled him up with me. He stood on shaking legs. I grabbed his shoulders to keep him upright and together we walked through the storm to The School of Homeless Boys.

The School of Homeless Boys was a school for orphaned boys. It sat at the corner of Elmerson Street. I passed by it often as I walked to my part-time job. It was a huge red brick building with plenty of trees and flowers decorating the front of the school. I saw, once or twice, some of the students there walking about in their black and red uniforms and a teacher accompanying them. It was always the same teacher. I never got to know her name; I would see her and she would notice me staring at her, so I'ld pick up my pace and quickly walk pass.