Purity and shelter.
The unknown covering the fragility of it.
The crimes one commits can vary.
But when you are just a tiny speck, what crime can be given?
Birth of self?
Children are beings that are blunt.
Naive.
As they age, they are less susceptible to lies, tricks, pranks, entertainment.
Vulnerability.
Exploitation of that is an inevitability.
There is no person that will never use that gap of vulnerability.
The kind for good raising, the malicious for trained raising.
The divine are exceptions.
Told that the devil cannot be trusted.
Such a devil speaks the truth at times.
Joy is born from their curiosity.
The thirst to learn, absorb.
Some may be cunning, others not.
But they certainly won't be able to challenge the adult.
Their joy or sorrow comes from the mentor.
Without guidance, the purity is irreversibly lost, the unknown their greatest friend.
Their shelter is one that holds the memories, upon reliving, smiles are the only remembrance.
Growth comes for all, but the eternity before was never shed.
Fulfillment, understanding, acknowledgement.
All acquired.
Achieved strangely.
Lineage of generations are stuck with each other, the longer it goes, the less the older are remembered.
"Come this way! I want to show you something special!"
The new weeds of society, faces of delight, bringers of hope.
They always play games.
"I'm the hero!"
"No I am!"
"Ah… guys…"
The sharp contrast of two sides unquestioned, simplified.
Lesser evil for the sake of ambiguity.
Greater good for the love of confidence.
"Now, now, it isn't very fair to always keep the role to yourself."
"Ah! Sister!"
Plainly, an orphanage.
Strikingly an orphanage that has lasted centuries of the time between the old and new.
Its progression was fast in the beginning.
But the years following, it slowed.
The new came and the old left.
A relationship with a gap unknown.
The caretakers who chose to stay from the old, were all kind.
Pure. In joy all the time.
When time flows so too does the fading.
But that fading never came.
With only purity and joy, what else was needed?
The essential for survival.
"It's time again."
At a time in between two to four weeks.
Each month, the old resurged once more.
The next day at the orphanage, gifts were laid for each child under the tree.
"Wow…!"
"Haha mine is better!"
The purity was shared.
The joy was on all.
The old believed.
The new dreamed.
Everything else is unneeded.
Flowing again and again. The weaver who made it all watched. The devil smiled. The god was oblivious.
"It's time again."
The dark hid the basking light.
The old with their purity targeted the malevolent. Joy was in their veins. Just imagining the children was the light.
With each disappearance, the reputation was no joke.
The room was stained with all such impurities. Impurities that stayed.
"Damn it… this is how my…?"
"Thank you for your time." the old smiled.
Their purity was the land, their joy the wall.
The man losing the grip on time, was an elder. He, too, was once part of the orphanage.
What that old took was years of work purely for the new.
Many of the old, dismantled the elder, the new replacing the old.
A cycle that kept repeating each few years.
A large orphanage built by the elder, cut down by the old, removed by the new.
They believed only in two things.
The kindness, and the foundation built.
Their purity, joy, tainted. Innocence and bliss filling them.