Flug's New Guardian

Doesn't Flug get a say in this?

Flug had lived in the orphanage all his life.

He couldn't remember his parents or where he had come from. The old, but well taken care of building served him as his home along with many other children. The two adults that ran the place were Jenny and Martin Filterworth. A couple who, by the rumours that circled the household, weren't ever able to have children of their own, so they settled with taking care of kids who had no living relatives or were abandoned by their own kin.

Flug didn't really know if his parents were alive or not. They had never told them his situation, but he had the darkest feeling that he was dumped at their front doorstep by his mysterious parents and left in the orphanage's care as they ran off and out of his life.

In his time in his shared home, he was reclusive and shy, preferring to play on his own or take trips to the library to borrow books, or movies if they had any interesting ones to watch, like Star Trek or something on the lines of that, rather than playing with the other kids. They all tease and bully him anyways, so why stick around them if you're just going to end up in tears?

But there was no escaping them forever, he practically lives with them, after all. So when Flug gets beaten up, he'll put on a paper bag (with cut-out eyeholes for him to see.) and his conveniently long play lab coat to hide his injuries from his wardens. If they saw what happened to him, there would be questions and he'd have to answer them. This will only get him in more trouble with his tormentors.

Now that he was eight years of age, and freshly rejected in another round of parents looking to adopt, Jenny looked at him sympathetically.

"Someone will adopt you one day, don't you worry, Flug." She gave him a little pat on the head and followed the parents to do the final checks and approve of the Adoption Agreements papers.

The child sighed, mirthless and sat on one of the colourful kiddie chairs, a contrast of Flug's gloomy mood. Would I ever be adopted? He wondered to himself, So many kids I know had already gone to good families. There are articles around that say orphanages cannot take care of children once they reach a certain age. They haven't specified. Am I getting too old? Where would I go once I reach the age limit? The articles haven't said anything about this either! Am I going to get thrown into the street? Do I have to live in a cluttered dark alley?! I don't want to live on garbage!

Flug started to panic and he quickly shoved his paper bag over his head— he used it for almost every situation now— and wrapped his scientist coat closer into his body and tried steady his hyperventilated breathing. He was only young! He read enough books and movies to know that the cruel outside world are not meant for children. It was for fully-fledged adults, who have learnt the ways of the world and how to survive, and even to flourish and live without worries.

But Flug hasn't learnt everything yet! Not even half of it! A quarter of it! What will he do? What can he do? He can't do anything, he was stuck, and only someone who is willing to take him in could get him out! He was helpless, so helpless!

Someone needs to save him now!

As if his prayers were answered, Flug heard the opening of the front door, jumping in fright when the door collided with a BANG against the pastel painted wall. When Flug turned around to see whoever stranger came in, he choked in a gasp.

Standing at the door, in a fine tailor-made suit and top hat, the most terrifying person Flug had ever seen. Can he even call it a person?

With it's purple hued skin and a lack of nose, not mention his array of sharp teeth that seemed to grow with his smile, was a colour of a dull swamp green. Just everything about him screamed 'Monster!'