Love Me Natalie

Now, I normally didn't get thoughts of running away. I mean, I was seventeen for god's sake! I craved for adventure and the adrenaline. The feeling of just escaping from my boring life, urged me towards it. 

Life in the orphanage? Horrid. Boring. Normal. 

All my friends had gotten adopted? But me? Me? I was left to sag out on the side. I wasn't adorable, nor was I nice and childish like the others. I was just too down to Earth. 

Weren't we all?

I was the outsider of the orphanage. I just didn't fit in. Like Henry, the big guy who worked at the bar a few blocks away from Dale's. He was big and burly, the huge beer jugs were little ants in his hands. He was a huge man, probably six feet five. There wasn't enough space behind the counter for him to walk around in. He'd just twist around, and grab the bottle he needed. Friendly guy, I'd say. 

Mind me, Henry was the last man you'd want to meet on Sataurday night. It was the night he reaped. 

Yeah, reaped.

I'm not talking Grim Reaper or anything, but Henry reaped the streets on Sataurday nights. I watched the show from the top of the orphanage. 

He would scurry the streets with his pals and scavenge with his signature steel rod he carried in his big hands. 

Henry and his chums looted anyone, who crossed their paths. Their pockets were full of tobacco and cigarettes, with a few dollar bills they gathered from the street junkies. 

It happened every night, and I even watched one of the crack addicts get beat up with the steel rod-- even a rumour about him never cleaning it, the blood stains still haunting the rod.

Now, this isn't Henry's story or the miracles of how the street junkies avoided him. But it'll tie in soon enough with my story. 

Where was I, again? Oh yeah. The outsider of the orphanage.

I wasn't a loner, but I wasn't exactly at the top of the food chain. You may ask, do steareotypes exist amongst the orphans? Yes, yes they do. 

Okay, we don't have stereotypes where there's the snobby, head cheerleader and the arrogant, stupid jock but more.. violent steareotypes. 

We all had our little gangs and at least a possy we belonged to. It was supposed to be cool, and to keep us orphans from feeling lonely and unwanted human beings in the world. Which we obvioulsy were. 

So, the steareotypes. 

The Try-hards. 

These guys worked their butt off to get adopted and reccomended by the workers. They would stay up late to study and excel in our little school to show their above average grades. Some of them weren't the school type, but they were the look type. They'd try to look as cute as they could and as sweet as posible to impress the couples. 

The Thinkers.

These guys wanted nothing to do with the orphanage. They wanted to unravel the total mystery on who their parents were, where they came from and how exactly did they end up at this dump/ orphanage? 

The Escapees.

You can only guess what these orphans did. Isn't it quite obvious? Most of 'em escaped successfully, I don't think it was that hard either. 

The Masterminds.

These orphans? These kids knew where everything of our area and the orphanage itself. Where you can find the Cobras' Cabin (currently located on third block passed Dale's and second floor, room 4) and where you'd get the cheapest beer. That, isn't all. But, they weren't cheap to talk to for information. A dollar a question. I didn't have that kind of money.