Left to Run

Chapter One

Azalea was almost ready to fall asleep. The other children were, too, except for Willard who was determined to escape. The six children, Azalea, Willard, Little Tracey, Nicholas, Faith and Valen, had all planned to run away from the cruel place of which they lived to be free.

The children were owned by a sickening orphanage; an orphanage where the children were advertised to be ‘untameable’ and ‘hideous monsters’, which drove away any potential parents. The headmaster did so, so she could use the children her own as slaves.

To keep herself awake, Azalea stroked her thick, unwashed hair. It was so dirty and knotty that, though naturally blonde, it appeared a dirty brown. “Trace,” Faith whispered to her young sister “Are you ready?”

“For wha-?” the toddler looked upward to her fourteen year old sister.

“We’re going to be free.” Faith replied, grasping Little Tracey’s hand as a sign of hope. Azalea overheard their conversation and sat up again, pulling her hair away from her face. She scratched her arm, covered by an itchy-green blanket, and pulled her feet off the side of her bed. “Nicholas, Willard, it’s time to go.” She poked Nicholas, who was sleeping beside her, and woke him up. “Go.”

Willard clumsily dragged the older boy out of his sleep and, with great determination, pulled him towards the door. Azalea saw them murmuring. Nicholas was old enough to understand the risks in such an escape, but William was seven years old and didn’t recognise the threats. “Is the string attached?” Nicholas probed anxiously. He quietly followed his eyes along the string which led from their bedroom, through the foyer and to the kitchen. The string followed along the floor, until at the end it rose up and appeared stuck in one of the high cupboards. On the other side of the foyer was the main room, which led to the outside world – where the children could escape from.

“Just before we start, make sure everyone is ready.” Faith harshly whispered, gesturing not to pull the string. “Valen, wake up.” Valen and Faith were twins, and though they had many things in common, they did not live well together. They constantly fought, regardless of all the traits they shared in common. “Ok, as soon as you pull the string, Willard has to throw his rock at the kitchen window.” Faith refreshed their minds of the plan “when Ms. Bowel wakes up, she’ll unlock the door to find the ‘thief’. When she leaves the door open, we race out the opposite direction.”

“Are we all ready?” William squatted down to prepare his shot, eagerly waiting to sprint out the door.

“3,” Nicholas counted. He gripped the string tightly.

“2,” Azalea lay down in her bed, sneakily trying to get a view of the kitchen from the dormitory.

“1,” Nicholas lightly tugged on the string, ready to ferociously yank it towards him. Azalea gripped her bed sheets, Valen pretended to sleep and Little Tracey snuggled her head into Faith’s chest.

“Go!” Nicholas whispered as loud as possible to ensure the others heard him. He jerked the string, which was attached to a saucer in the cupboard of delicate pots and pans. The force of the pulling swung the cupboard door open, making pots and pans fly outwards and hit the floor with a large clutter and a huge crackling noise like fireworks bursting within the small room. Shocked with the noise, Willard held his fire until all the metal and clay stopped rolling around and colliding with other pots. “Go!” Nicholas screamed, frustrated already. He quickly raced back into his bed, waiting for Willard to throw the small rock. Smash, Willard through it dead-centre in the middle of the glass window. It was a large hole, but not large enough to make it seem as if a man could climb through it. Before Willard could dash back through the bedroom archway, the Headmaster, Ms. Bowel, came storming through the kitchen. “WHO ON THIS GOD FORSAKEN LAND COULD HAVE DONE THIS?!” she screeched furiously. Before she could scream to herself about the cracked floor, her attention turned to the broken window. In the most petrifying scream, she thundered “WHICH ONE OF YOU KIDS DID THIS?!” each word she bellowed grew louder and louder until she was standing at their doorway.

“ANSWER UP or you won’t be having ANY SCRAPS FOR A WEEK.” She hollered, at what would’ve seemed to have broken her voice. None of the children uttered a world. They were all filled with the shame that, for one their plan had failed, and secondly Ms. Bowel instantly blamed them instead of what could have easily been a thief!

Azalea tried to be as quiet as possible, or she would lock her in the cupboard for a day. She held her breath tightly, but it was so tight a small whiny leak of air escaped her throat.

“Azalea! Get up!” Shaken with fear, Azalea stood up slowly and stared at her feet, waiting to hear her headmaster’s next command.

“Three days in the cupboard! No food!”

“What’s going on?” a sweet voice interrupted. It was the voice of Miss Jose Belle, the kindest women the children had ever met in their lives. She was so kind that she, regardless that if she was caught Ms. Bowel would fire her, fed the children when they were not fed. She played games with them when Ms. Bowel was sleeping, and she even read the children to sleep when they had a rough day.

“Belle, there you are.” Ms. Bowel snickered, “Take this one to the cupboard.” She snatched Azalea’s wrist and pulled her strongly towards Jose Belle.

“It’s late in the night, Milady,” she stuttered “Are you sure you don’t want to let them rest?”

“They wouldn’t have rested anyway!” The headmaster snapped.

“But they haven’t eaten in a while either; perhaps they need the rest…”

“Are you blind? Did you see the mess they made in my kitchen?!”  Ms. Bowel raised her fist to hit Jose, but flinched. “No more questions. I need my sleep, too. Take her to the cupboard.”

Azalea looked up at Miss Belle in shock and pain, who returned a knowing look. “I’m sorry, Azzy,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure your shackles aren’t very tight.” She smiled, but it was quickly wiped away with a frown. The cupboard was, or so she was told, the worst punishment in the city. It didn’t escape the orphanage, because such an act would be worthy of life in prison. It was a cupboard with nothing but a pair of shackles on the wall – fit perfectly for a child’s wrists.