Lost Families

The children of Quentin Orphanage weren’t family. They had no family, that was why they were there in the first place. However, there were times when they would come together and things didn’t feel as broken as they were.

A group of 12 orphans sat in a circle on the rooftop, in the middle there lay a dirty white bed sheet with various kinds of food piled up on it; small pieces of bread, edible plants, nuts and berries; whatever they could find.

 “Where are Jamie and Roman? They were supposed to be here by now,” a tall blonde girl wondered.

“Don’t worry,” a boy on her right said, “I’m sure they’ll be here soon. They probably just got held up by the caretakers or something.”

Worried, the girl bit her lip, something she did often.  She was the kind of person who worried about everything. Although, in her defence, there were a lot of things to worry about in her life.

Fortunately it seemed that her worry was needless, shortly after their conversation the rooftop’s door opened and two more children entered. The shorter boy joined the circle while the other stood before them with his arms crossed.

“Sorry. We got held up by Miss Marsh. Apparently someone broke the vase in the dining room so we had to clean it up.” He glared in the direction of a rat-faced girl on the opposite side of the circle.

“It was an ugly vase anyways,” was her only response accompanied by a shrug of her shoulders.

This only angered the boy more, he balled his fist and it was obvious that a fight would soon break out.

“Oh stop it! Jamie, this is not the time for a fight. And Faye, don’t antagonize him. If you guys want to fight that badly you can do it somewhere else but the rest of us is staying here for the meal,” a brown-skinned girl spoke.

Jamie immediately backed down and moved to sit next to Roman, the boy he had arrived with. The girl, Faye, huffed and looked away but stayed silent nonetheless.

“Now, everyone hold hands and close your eyes.”

The group followed the girl’s lead and did as she said. For a moment it was quiet, peaceful even. Then they opened their eyes and let go of each other. The silence didn’t last long.

“Let’s eat!” one of the kids exclaimed.

The others didn’t hesitate to attack the pile in the middle. They tried to grab as much as they could, holding it close to themselves. What was surprising was that, in a rare instance of altruism, some of the older kids made sure the younger ones got their fair share too.

“I’m grateful to Lynn for organizing this every year,” a messy haired boy said. The girl in question, the girl who prevented the fight earlier, blushed and looked down at the compliment.

“I’m grateful for the food you all managed to get for this,” she said.

The other grins grinned at this and suddenly they were all declaring what they were grateful for.

“I’m grateful for the teddy bear Mitch got me.”

“I’m grateful to the stars for being so pretty!”

“I’m grateful for the fact that I’m still alive.”

Exclamation after exclamation followed. Some were happy, some were dark, some just didn’t make any sense. Those were probably Jonathan’s fault.

“I’m grateful for these small rocks and sticks that are conveniently laying here,” Faye said, picking up a pebble. The others send her questioning or worried looks, but their use was quickly made clear when she threw her over the roof’s fence, towards one of the more nasty caretakers. A bloodthirsty grin formed on her face as she turned back around and faced her fellow orphans.

“Arm yourselves.”

Most of them were hesitant. Surprisingly it was Jamie who stood up first. He picked a particularly large stick, took aim, and threw it at Miss Marsh who was taking a walk through the garden. It didn’t hit its target but it did startle the nasty woman.

After this the other children quickly followed his example. Sticks, stones and nutshells were thrown down. It didn’t take the caretakers long to figure out where they were coming from. The children were yelling and laughing while their caretakers and tormentors screamed at them.

“Barricade the door!” Lynn screamed. Roman and an Asian-looking girl hurried to do what she said. the found a large, strong looking stick and used it to hinder anyone who would come from inside the house.

As the caretakers cursed underneath them the kids were having the time of their lives.

The orphanage was Hell. The work, the abuse, the rules. It was a terrible place to grow up. From the moment they were dropped there, be it because their parents abandoned them or because they didn’t have any family left, they stopped being children. They became numbers, just more mouths to feed.

Despite their hardships friendships were created and bonds were forged between the children of the orphanage, even though the general mentality remained that you had to look after yourself first and other second. That was just what they had always been taught.

Still, there were some moments when they didn’t feel like they were just a bunch of good-for-nothings forced to live together.

There were times that they felt like family.

That moment on the rooftop, throwing sticks and stones at their abusers, they were having fun. It was a feeling they didn’t experience often, the bubbly warmth of happiness was a strange and uncommon sensation that was unfamiliar in its own way, yet welcome.

It felt like they were family. A family of outcasts united against those who didn’t accept them. Just them against the world.

Those moments of hesitant happiness were few and far between. Yet,  just like the previous ones, this one didn’t last very long either.

The caretakers managed to break through their improvised barricade. The children were subdued and brought to the dining room to await punishment.

Punishment was always something bad and usually something painful. With what they had done this time it would without doubt be worse and more painful than usual. Worse than being locked in a closet for hours, worse than being beaten with the stick, worse than being half-starved for days.

Despite the knowledge that they would be punished soon none of the children could bring themselves to regret it.

It wasn’t often that they felt like family, but those few moments of belonging were worth the punishment.

As long as they kept them short and rare, the punishments would be a price they were prepared to pay for those fleeting moments of warmth.