I hate windy nights. Every time I heard the howling of the wind, my body would shiver in fear. Even though I was safe inside, the sound was enough to put me on unease. The slow shuffling of the trees in the courtyard was just as if somebody was walking right beside me. I could never sleep. And so, I would sit in one corner of the room, my head tucked into my legs and beg for the whisper to stop. That was all I could really do. But it was never enough.
The orphanage was dead silent. No sign of life in the corridors and not even the faintest of whispers from the children in their rooms. Walls covered in ancient wallpaper, whilst the floorboards were as squeaky as a rubber toy. Stepping on one of the boards with just your toe would make the loudest of creaks.
And the caretakers? Miserable yet charming. They would sit idly in their rooms not bothering with any of the children throughout the day nor the night and once in a while would leave their chambers to venture through the dark and dusty hallways. Surveying the scene to see if any of the children were up past curfew. They wore the blackest of robes, reaching down to their ankles, and had a cross around their neck.
"Children of God."
They called themselves. Yet they were the closest to the devil than anyone on the planet. Terrible people. They may not have harmed anyone but negligence... Negligence hits harder than any abuse by one's own parent.
It was an old orphanage. Windows cracked, and parts of the ceiling almost lodged off. An old factory smell accompanied the premise that winded down through the corridors and into every inch of the building.
The children, young but miserable, lived through a certain lifestyle and protocol. Suffocation is one of the most common ways people have died. And these children were suffocated every day they spent inside this place. It was more of a hellhole than anything else. But, they had nowhere to go, for they were orphans.
I have been here for as long as I can remember. It isn't the best place to live but for me it's home and I could not ask for more. The caretakers aren't really around, so I haven't been stopped from doing anything I wanted. During the day, I play with the other kids; hopscotch, colouring, and catch.
We eat twice a day, usually bread and some rice, and during the night I read a book. Thanks to the status of this orphanage, they provide us with enough education so that when we grow, we are able to work for ourselves when we leave. However, in my heart, there is this pain that I do not understand. It is as if someone has stabbed me through my chest. Quiet yet unbearable, always in the back on rewind like a cassette.
I hate the night. It's always so quiet. The constant unease that you feel is that something is outside the door this very moment, waiting, watching, lurking. It makes me sick. The constant fear of the unknown is enough to make even the strongest of men into children.
I hate rainy days. No playtime during them. Isolation makes me go crazy. It gets even worse during the night. The slow tap from every corner of the room over and over and over again.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Overwhelmed by insanity, I can only scream in silence, wishing it would vanish.
I despise the orphanage.