Orphan

Chapter 1

I watched as the sun rose higher in the sky and filtered through the numerous holes in my cardboard box. My alleyway never really got sunlight except for in the morning. It made it easy to watch those around me and observe everything that passes my way. They don't know I'm here, nor will I ever believe they will. I blend in pretty well with the trash, so I've been told. Some people glance down the alley to wonder what's the source of the stench that drifts from it but find nothing except trash. I guess people don't care if it's not their problem so that's where I am. Stuck in the middle. I had people who cared but they left. Now, I'm left to those who don't.

I have a sour perspective on the world. People want to care or at least they act like they do, walking by without a care in the world while others like them starve. I want to blend into their world and forget mine, but I can't leave my box. I would be caught. That's where worry falls into my life. I worry that someone will spot me and take me into the orphanage. I've had friends taken from me. Disappearing from the streets and never be seen again. The rest of us worry that we will be taken into one of those dreaded homes as well. Those older, tell stories of how they were treated and the life they lived.

I watch out for myself, not because I want to, but because I have to. I have scars from fights with others like me. Territory is something we treasure because it's the only thing we can really own. Each of these scars tells a story of their own, but I have a few more than others. Not only from fighting other homeless over territory but from my old life. See, I wasn't always on the streets.

I went to school, had friends, parents, a home, food, and whatever else was accessible to me. Then my parents didn't want me anymore. I was eleven when I first found myself in the dark alley beside the bowling alley and the out-of-date diner. I was left to fend for myself, even though my parents thought I couldn't. That was the reason they left me here in the first place, wrapped in the dirty blanket from the basement floor and left in a trash bin for dead. They assumed I was dead. They were wrong.

For the longest time, I stole things from doorsteps and trashcans until I realized that it wasn't worth it. The thing that changed me was a trip to the police department; I lied about losing my parents and that I was lost and hungry. They attempted to find them, but my parents had no trouble eluding the cops. I was all right with it though. It wasn't like they cared what I got into anymore. Finally, they gave up and tried to put me in an orphanage. When they saw they were "full", one of the officers took me home with him. I ran away that night after everyone went to bed. I didn't want his compassion. I wasn't going to be a second thought.

I can tell that no one cares for me. I can see it in their eyes. People are so easy to read when you know what you are looking for. I can see that what they said to me is forced and not genuine. I guess after losing what you think is safe, everything that you think could be different is taken away as well.

My parents, when I was really little, were everything to me. They cared, but that all changed the year I turned six. I then became their torture object and all their hate of me finally became directed at me. I couldn't count the number of times I was at the hospital as a kid for severe burns and blisters and even a couple of broken bones. There was a nice woman who stopped by every month for a while, but she disappeared one day and I never saw her again.

Those were the days I could be sure nothing would happen to me. My parents had to show her that I was healthy and nothing was wrong. They couldn't risk her finding any new marks so I was forced to clean the house the entire week instead of being their pawn. That lady was my saving grace, but she never noticed my quiet pleas for help. I would leave little hints around the house in places my parents wouldn't notice, and after she left, I would be "rewarded" for being good. I hated everything my parents did to me.

Funny how life does things to you that really muck things up. People can't be trusted. I know a few people like me. The only problem with them is they aren't kids. I rarely see other people since I hide all day. I don't want to be a part of a world where to make someone happy, you have to hurt those you thought you loved. It seems pretty stupid if you ask me. I don't find joy in anything but a simple piece of food or a better blanket for the night.

I collect all of my food on Sunday mornings when people are prevented from leaving their houses due to recent city ordinances or are walking around still drunk in the back alleyways. I'm quick about my work and don't waste time. Someone once told me a wasted minute becomes an hour gone. I don't want to be caught. People, however oblivious they may be, are really brutal to those who have a slight difference from the "norm".

So when the stars dim tomorrow, I will leave my dreaded box and scavenge for food for the rest of the week. If everything goes as planned, the only thing I will have to worry about is the others like me. They are just as ruthless as the rest of the population. Stocking up anything of use as a weapon in defense makes us just as dangerous as a murderer or a psychopath.

I just have to keep my head straight and my heart calm. There is nothing worse than chickening out and losing your week's ration of whatever everyone else thought was useless. Food event for the rest of the population is scarce, so why they are so careless about what they are given confuses me. You'll find it in the most inconspicuous places too. Sitting behind a trash can or buried at the bottom so the collectors don't notice when it's trash day. My personal favorite is the few people who leave parts of their ration on the window ledges of their apartments as if the people who take them are simply the street cats.

My life does not make sense to them, but when you cross the border between nothing and everything, you really do see the difference and begin to wonder if your life is really important at all.