I sat upon the edge of my bed, thinking of who my parents were, for I am living in an orphanage. I picture a sweet, loving mother with brown eyes and beautiful dirty blonde hair. She has a slim body wearing a pink t-shirt, denim jeans, brown glasses, and little diamond earrings. When I picture my father I see a well build, but thin. He has crystal blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a small beard, including a moustache. He is wearing a black t-shirt, cameo shorts, and is very affectionate. He looks about a year or two older than the mother. Sometimes, I wonder why I am here and not with them. I heard that some of the other kids’ stories and I wish that I was just left at the door because they couldn’t take care of me. I had tried to talk to the care-taker to understand how I got here and why I was here. She didn’t tell me any useful information; I assume it is for my own good.
I began to lose my train of thought due to the other boys yelling and screaming. I sit at my bed with nothing to do and being miserable. Earlier, my only friend had gotten adopted and so I sit here, alone. We used to do everything together, but they weren’t interested in me, only my friend. I wonder that am I not good enough for them or do I not fit their requirements. Whatever the reason, they made me alone and miserable. I don’t ever make contact with the other kids because most of them are cruel and brutal. So, I sit in my bed because it is like my little safe zone from the others. I usually sit here, with nothing to do, almost the whole day, besides when I have to go to the mess hall to eat. When I get there, all of the others usually take whatever they can, greedily, and begin to eat. I take a small amount, eat, and then leave, back to my bed.
Days began to pass by, both slowly and miserably. Strangers came by looking at all of the other kids, but paid no attention to me. Soon, night slowly creeps by and all of the other kids begin to swarm the rooms, to soon fall asleep. I, however, stay up late, staring at complete blackness. Some nights, I stay up most or all of the night, but other nights I want to cry myself to sleep, but dare bother to. Thus being, the other boys and the care-taker will dislike me even more.
More days pass, and even more strangers come rolling in and out. The day crept by slowly and miserably. Soon, the sun went down and the moon slowly awakened. Soon enough, it was time for dinner. All of the other boys began to sit down and the food was almost ready. We all waited a few minutes and the food began to come through the doors of the kitchen. Once the food was set and everybody began to put stuff on their plates, there was a quiet knock at the door. The care-taker slowly got up and power-walked to the door. Everyone stood still to see who or what it was. It was a small boy; I assumed he was around my age. I began to think, if he could be my new friend.
The care-taker directed the boy to the table, fortunately, close to me. I waved a little greeting, but he paid no attention to me. He looked pale and was shivering. The care-taker hadn’t noticed. I stared at the boy, capturing his appearance and his actions. I began to think that he was timid and shy. He showed no real characteristics of himself. Soon, I began to eat, but still kept my eye on him. He hadn’t done much. He didn’t talk much, eat much, or do much besides shiver. I got up and left the room. I went back to my room and decided to try and talk to him tomorrow.
