The Orphanage – Yvonne De Villiers
Dark clouds rolled in the sky above as deformed forks of lightning struck the ground around the large town of Penfold. From the basement of the largest house, a pair of terrified eyes peered out at the raging storm. Nyra was more skeleton than human; her parents had died when she was six, and so she had been sent to The Orphanage. The building was huge, bigger than even the Mayor’s, but it had long ago fallen into ruin. Mouldy wallpaper peeled from every wall and the ceilings were beyond repair. Up to twenty children were crammed into the dank, dark rooms, with most of them sleeping on the floors. They were fed only gruel and stale bread once a day, and were worked like slaves in between.
For seven years, Nyra had lived there. Seven excruciating years, filled with nothing but hunger and misery. No one in the town complained, they were glad that someone would take in all the unwanted children. The Mayor was as corrupt as they got – his mansion could rival the monarch’s, made of marble and gold. He slept on a real bed with a real duvet, and he was so round he could give a whale a run for its money.
“Nyra, we need to go to bed before Matron sees us!” Nyra turned to Kyla, the only girl older than her.
“But, I’m frightened.” Nyra whispered. Her parents had died in a storm like this, resulting in a paralyzing fear of thunder.
“I know you’re frightened, but sitting here isn’t going to help.” Kyla tried and failed to pull Nyra away from the window.
“Please, just five more minutes.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Alright then.” Kyla attempted to brush through Nyra’s greasy hair with a brush that had only ten bristles. When one of them snapped off, she gave up and decided to head to bed.
“Night, night.” She whispered.
“Night.” Kyla tried her best to get comfortable on the two-inch-thick mattress that she shared with Nyra. Shivering, she pulled the threadbare blanket over her and lay her head on her arm. The last thing she saw, was a skeletal figure sitting by the window, silhouetted against a flash of lightning.
“Alright you lazy brutes!” Matron burst into the room, her foghorn voice hurting the children’s ears. “Get up and get to breakfast in ten minutes, or else it’s the cane for you!” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. All the children were on their feet in an instant. They folded their blankets and stacked the mattresses by the side of the room. All of them had grey skin and long, greasy hair. Their clothes hung off their too-thin bodies, and their eyes were sunken into their skulls.
They all filed into the dining hall, practically drooling at the thought of food. It was the same every day; cold gruel with unidentifiable chunks floating in it, and stale, sometimes mouldy, bread. It wasn’t a surprise that a third of the children died of starvation or food poisoning each year. The food was eaten in complete silence. You might have heard a pin drop, if it wasn’t for the layer of mould on the floor to silence its landing.
“Alright then. Group A, you’re off to do laundry.” Matron glared at the younger children. Without a word, they filed out of the dining room, depositing their dirty dishes in a row of grime-covered sinks on the way out.
“Group B, you’re on dishes and then litter duty.” Litter duty was basically when the children scoured the streets, bins and the dump for anything of potential use or value. “And Group C.” She turned to the ten older children, “You’re in the Mayor’s house.”
Within half an hour of the children waking up, they were all in their allocated work spots for the day. And there they would stay until the clock tower struck eight.
“Aaah, you’re here.” Borris, the butler wrinkled his nose at the stench of their filthy clothes and unwashed bodies.
“Girls, you are in the kitchen, and then you must clean out the rooms. Boys, you are tending the garden, then cleaning out the stables. Nodding mutely, the children split and the girls made their way to the kitchen.
The clatter of pots and pans sounded from the sweltering room as the four girls approached. “Ah! You’re finally here!” Sally, the cook, bustled up to them and ushered them towards the washing up basins.
“Clean those dishes. His Lordship the Mayor is having lunch with the Duke and Duchess of Leafton.” She hurried away as quickly as her girth would allow. Nodding mutely once more, they carefully loaded the stacks of dishes into the hot soapy water and began scrubbing.
About an hour before lunch was due, the Mayor himself came around to check on the preparations. His beady little eyes glared at them from his porcine features, and his huge bulk wobbled with every step; just watching him made Nyra queasy. He was, by far, one of the most unpleasant people she had ever met.
“Nyra! I want you and Kyla to start taking food up to the table.” Nyra snapped back to attention and grabbed the nearest tray of food. In her hands was the most mouth-watering selection of pastries she had ever seen: eclairs drowning in chocolate, jam tarts with real jam, and scones – with actual cream! It took all her willpower not to snatch one and stuff it into her mouth. She had to wait until the right moment.
Stealing food from the Mayor was one of the only ways Nyra and Kyla stayed alive. The small portions of food they smuggled out of his mansion were the only things that provided enough nutrition for them to function. No one had caught them – there was so much food, no one ever noticed.
Thirteen back-breaking hours later, the girls met up with the boys, accepted their measly pay graciously, and shuffled back to the Orphanage.
“Do you think we’ll get to keep anything this time?” Derek asked. He was the youngest boy, barely ten years old.
“Not a chance.” Jake replied, kicking at a muddy puddle between the cobblestones as he took a bite of his bread roll. The sickly yellow of the gas streetlamps cast strange shadows over the buildings on either side of the street. In the late evening, the houses loomed over the children like menacing beasts, eyeing them hungrily.
“I’ve been here seven years and I’ve still not even earnt a single pound.” Nyra muttered, staring down at her feet.
Rain began to patter down, cold and unwelcome.
“We’d better hurry; if we catch a chill out here we’re as good as dead.” The words had barley left Kyla’s mouth before the rain doubled in intensity. Waves of icy water had the children drenched in a heartbeat. They began sprinting towards the looming bulk of The Orphanage. “Hurry!” Jake yelled, herding the younger ones in first.
Suddenly, a flash of lightning split the sky, and thunder cracked overhead. It was louder than anything any of the children had experienced. Nyra froze, her eyes wide in fear. She thought of her parents, the carriage horses spooking, careening off a bridge, killing them.
“Nyra! Nyra! Say something!” She could faintly hear Kyla’s voice but it seemed distant. She felt several hands lifting her and carrying her inside The Orphanage. “No,” She muttered, she had decided she would never go back inside that horrible place.
“Nyra, hurry! We need to go inside!” Jake put her down and shook her shoulders, snapping her out of her reverie.
“I said no!” Nyra spoke firmly and with a finality that no one dared to counter.
“But where will you go?” Kyla seemed frightened.
“I don’t know, but I’m never going back in there.” She glanced around her group of friends who, one by one, nodded their heads.
“Go then. Find happiness, you deserve it.” Jake spoke as he held his hand out to her. Nyra shook it with a trembling hand. She shook everyone’s hand, but when she reached Kyla, she wrapped her arms around the older girl’s neck. It was the first time the two had hugged and the meaning was significant.
“Never let anything scare you, Nyra. You are the strongest, bravest person I know – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Chase your dreams and catch them, I know you can.” Tears were streaming down Nyra’s face as Kyla said those words.
“Thank you.” She whispered hoarsely, “Take care of yourself.”
She smiled at her friends one last time before turning and disappearing into the rain.
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