You ever notice how kids who grow up in the system seem older than they are? Like they've lived a hundred lives already and are just waiting for their souls to catch up. I guess that's what happens when you don't have parents to protect you from the harsh edges of life. You grow up fast or you don't grow up at all. Me? I lost my childhood innocence by age 4. That's when I realized no one was coming back for me. Once you accept you've been abandoned, something hardens inside. You stop trusting so easy. Start looking out for number one. I had to grow up quick to survive this place. Develop a humor armor to deflect the loneliness. If I didn't crack jokes, I'd have cracked up long ago. So that's why I talk like some old soul instead of the 12 year old I supposedly am. I've seen things no kid should see. Heard cries in the night from ones with memories darker than mine. Felt the gnawing ache of an empty belly too many times. You mature quick when basic needs aren't met. This is going to sound strange, but sometimes I get the feeling I don't really exist either. Like I'm just a character in someone's story. When I try to think back before the orphanage, my memories fade like a dream. Maybe this is all just a dream. Perhaps none of this is real. There's no brick building housing forgotten kids. No chapel where the nuns pray for our souls. No dark-haired boy with a wit beyond his years. That's why I'm writing to you. If you're really out there, then I exist too. Through your eyes, I become real. That's all I ask. Believe in me, so I know I existed. Maybe then I can find a way out of this void. I hear footsteps - the nuns are coming. I've said all I can say. My only hope is that you heard me. Thank you for listening. And goodbye, dear reader. Wherever, whoever you are.
3 parts