A Wish For Wings (1) Sometimes I wish that I can fly. Sometimes I wish that I can be free. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I think it is pointless. Mostly, I think I am right. --------------------------------------------- The light from the sun filters through my thin curtains. The veiled windows have cracks and little holes. It is cold in the winter. The wind sneaks by the cracks in the window, blows the curtains open, which are as light a feather, and jolts me awake. I never fall back to sleep. My mother is mostly drunk, and does not, in her words, give a crap whether I sleep or not. She does not have a job, and relies on Frank to provide the money. Frank is not a good man. He bounces from job to job, never settling down and always bringing home a meagre amount of money. Frank is my mother's boyfriend. My father lives alone at te countryside. He still loves my mother, and sends money sometimes. It makes #life bearable. Frank is different. He smokes in the house all the time, swears a lot, and does not care whether I exist. I am but a shadow to him.Now I creep out of my room silently. Swear words flow from the kitchen. Banging sounds follow. Frank is banging on the toaster. The toaster is old, and does not work well. I silently enter the kitchen. Wordlessly I walk to the toaster. Frank watches me. I avoid eye contact and get the toaster working easily. Frank forgot to switch it on. "You think you're so good?" he snarls. Spittle files from his lips and I smell the stench of alcohol. My heart sinks. Frank is drunk in the morning. Quick as a flash I zip to my room, slamming the door shut. Frank lets loose a long line of curses, turning the air blue with his foul language. I slap my hands over my ears. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," I chant to myself, drowning out Frank's voice. Frank will not remember this after he sobers up. Sure enough he clomps to his room soon after. The snoring is loud to my ears. I step out of my room apprehensively. The empty kitchen meets me and I immediately grab a sandwich I hid in the back of the fridge last night. I always go out for lunch and dinner. Quickly i head to the dining table. I freeze. My mother is sitting on the sofa beside the table, a bottle of wine in her hand. I watch as she gulps down the liquid. She slams the bottle on the table, and wine splashes out, adding to the already accumulated circle pf alcohol on the table. On the sofa's other side is the exit. Slowly I creep behind the sofa and bolt for the door. I'm out in seconds. My mother dosen't notice. I chew on my sandwich as I walk down the street, my other hand stuffed in my pocket. I must look weird. A 14 year old walking along with tattered old jeans and a faded shirt. My mother and Frank will not notice the lack of my presence. Coins jangle in the pocket my hand is in. I do not feel bad taking them from Frank. We still have enough money to live. He will not notice anyway. He never notices anything. When ny stomach gets hungry I eat lunch. Following that is dinner. I am at the library between meals. Then I sneak back into the house, head to the living room and sit on the sofa, softly beside my mother, who is drunk as usual. She looks at me and I stare back at her. I see a sliver of her old self in those pale blue eyes. Then it is gone as her head lolls back and she sags down, enveloped at last in sleep. ---------------------------------------- Sometimes I wish my father is still with me. Sometimes I wish my mother never got to know Frank. Mostly I wish Frank never existed.

Cat Tears. That was all Cat felt. Tears. Flowing, like a river. She was crying, for god's sake, crying. Why? Why was she? Simple. Moon Flower was dead. Gone. Lost. Forever. Killed by other cats. Her faithful, loyal white cat was no more. She cried and she sobbed and she begged. Begged, begged to get her back, staining the #lifeless, blood soaked body with tear tracks. Yet part of her lived on, Cat could feel it. Part of her was still in the living realm. In her. Moon Flower was dead, yes, but at the same time she wasn't. Cat stood, shaking, metal guns cold against her hands as she walked, Moon Flower cradled in her arms. Then her knees buckled and she fell. The aches of hunger raged in her stomach, setting of explosions of pain. She gasped, clutching her stomach, wincing. Moon Flower dropped to the floor again and it started to rain. Was this how she was going to die? Alone, famished, guilty? Because of her, because he was weak, Moon Flower would perish twice. Then a pair of eyes flashed in her direction. Bright glowing eyes, like a cat...

Facing Reality (3) I chewed on the soft tender meat of delicious chicken. My vegetables were mixed in what was the remaining rice in my plate. I set the half eaten chicken wing down and took a sip of my fruit punch. I finished the last of my rice and vegetables. Slowly I ate my way through the chicken. I swallowed the last mouthful of fruit juice before picking up the plastic plate, cup and utensils and proceeded to the nearby dustbin. "I see you are done," a voice from the door startled me. "Mrs-" I stopped short as I realized the person was not Mrs Rowan. It was a man. I stared awkwardly at him. "I'm Mr Des," the man explained. "Mrs Rowan needed to attend to some...things and she asked me to keep an eye out for you." He smiled. "I think you need to get to your dormitory," he said kindly.

Facing Reality (2) My suitcase made a soft whirring sound as I dragged it to the front door. A car greeted me, it's cheerful driver waving. He had bright blue eyes and light brown hair, very much unlike my own violet eyes and jet black hair. He wordlessly helped me load the suitcase. He got into the driver's seat and closed the door. The car started and shot forward. It lurched as it rounded a corner. I grabbed the door handle to steady myself. "You okay missy?" the low voice of the driver asked. "Fine," I mumbled, which was a downright lie. My emotions were jumbled up and I felt like I hadn't slept in days. The car crawled to a stop. "There's a traffic jam, so we'll arrive a little late," the driver said worriedly. "Actually I think like we'll reach 15 minutes late." The driver cast me a brief glance. "You know kid," he said slowly and carefully. "It's no use brooding. Your parents...well I'd wager they'd want you to get over this." My head shot up. "How would you know?" I said, anger creeping into my voice. "Well kid," the driver smiled sadly. "My parents are, to put it in the most gentle way, a little weird in the head, so yeah, it's pretty much the same." "Sorry," I said sheepishly. "Didn't know." "Don't apologize. It's not your fault," he said kindly. " and by the way, the name's Peter Dowse." His eyes twinkled at me. I smiled back. Tried to, anyway. The traffic ahead lessened. Peter grinned. "Make that 10 minutes late," he said happily as the car inched forward. Pretty soon, we were traveling quickly through the streets. "What's your name?" Peter asked suddenly. "Reina Dawson," I replied, fingering the necklace around my neck. "Reina," Peter said seriously as the car halted at a traffic light. "Don't get on Mrs Rowan's bad side. She's great when you're nice, but an old hag when you're not." He laughed. I smiled a very small smile. "I think I probably shouldn't tell her that," I said lightly, feeling a little better. Peter nodded his head vigorously. "Oh yes, otherwise it's off with your head!" he exclaimed. Then the car pulled up in front of a gloomy building with a faded sign that read, WELCOME TO THE ORPHANAGE OF MRS SIERRA ROWAN. "Okay missy, we've reached. Goodbye...and good luck," Peter winked. "Won't I be seeing you?" I asked. "Maybe, maybe not. But you better wish you won't see me again, regretful as it is, 'cause when I come, it means there's another orphan," Peter said sadly. "Wait!" I suddenly remembered something. Peter raised an eyebrow. "Who is Mrs Winnie Supra?" I asked. "How do you know her?" Peter said quizzically. "She was the one who sent me the letter, not Mrs Rowan," I explained. "She's Mrs Rowan's most trusted teacher," Peter said. "Now I really must be going." "But-" I said hurriedly, another question forming on my lips. However he was already leaving. I watched him go, my suitcase at my side. What had he meant by teacher? Then a woman in a suit and with her black hair tied in a bun rushed up to me. "Oh my dear, you've arrived, come on in!" she said in a kind voice. "Oh and by the way, I'm Mrs Rowan, and you must be Reina" I nodded silently. Mrs Rowan smiled warmly and led me into the orphanage. It was amazing. The inside was huge! With a total of four levels, the inside of the orphanage loomed over me. This was the front hall. There were seats and a counter, plus stairs leading upwards. Beside the counter was a small lift. "The food hall, library and classrooms are on the second floor. The third and fourth levels are the dormitories. Your room is on the fourth floor. Specifically, room 423. Of course, we don't have 400 over rooms, the 4 just refers to the level, just to be clear," Mrs Rowan explained. "I understand, Mrs Rowan," I said politely. "I trust you had lunch?" She asked raising an eyebrow. "No. Nor have I taken breakfast, Mrs Rowan," I admitted, suddenly feeling hungry. "Oh my! Then you must go eat," Mrs Rowan said briskly. "Mrs Rowan," I said hurriedly, pulling out my crumpled homework from my suitcase, "These are the last pieces of homework I had in school. Is there any way I can hand them to my teacher?" "Of course there is! I'll help you. Now what's the name of the school?" Mrs Rowan asked. "Silos Secondary School. My teacher's the head of the 16 year olds. Her name is Mrs Bessie. Oh and my class is the second class," I said hastily. "So we have a secondary 4 in our hands," Mrs Rowan smiled. "I'll hand theses to her, rest assured." "Is there a bus that travels to Silos and stops nearby?" I asked tentatively. "And why would you want to know?" Mrs Rowan raised an eyebrow. "I have to go to school," I explained, thinking that it was obvious. Mrs Rowan laughed. "This orphanage will be your new school. We'll teach you. Lessons will start at 7:30 sharp. Assemble at 70 at the food hall," Mrs Rowan said. No wonder she'd mentioned classrooms. And no wonder Peter had mentioned a teacher. "Really?" I said, somewhat lamely. Mrs Rowan nodded. "Go on then, the lunch hall it is for you," Mrs Rowan ushered me to the stairs. I glanced at the lift. "That's for special needs only," Mrs Rowan answered my silent question. We climbed the steps to the second floor. Ahead was a long row of doors, presumingly the classrooms. Behind were two doors, the one on the left leading to the library and the right to the food hall. It was easy to tell with the signs. Mrs Rowan steered me into the food hall. The food hall had 5 extremely long and empty tables. Beside the 5th empty table from the left was another long table, but this was covered with plates of food and cups beside liquid dispensers. In total there were 3 liquid dispensers, and, well, a whole lot of food. I noticed that most of the plates were barely filled. The other orphans must've already eaten. The only plate still mostly full was the one with vegetables. Mrs Rowan glanced sadly at it, then the one remaining chicken wing on a large plate. "They must like meat," I remarked. "Yes," Mrs Rowan sighed. "I don't mind vegetables, though," I said truthfully. Mrs Rowan smiled. She led me to the rice and filled a plate, handing it to me. "Go ahead and pick what you like," she invited.

Facing Reality My pencil scratched against paper, creating marks and lines. 16+...the pencil lead broke. I swore under my breath as I reached for another pencil lead. This was NOT the first pencil lead that had broken. Maybe I should start using a pen. I sighed as I reloaded my mechanical pencil with the last of my pencil lead. Homework. What a pain. I continued writing down my answer;...14=30. With utmost care, I proceeded to finish the last of my equations. Just a little bit more...and I was done! I flung down my pencil and whooped with joy. I massaged my eyes as I spun away from the table on my chair, which had wheels. Then my eyes fell onto an envelope, small and seemingly without meaning, and my shoulders sagged. The letter that was once in it lay beside it. A bit of it showed. Dear Ms Reina Dawson, it read, your transport will arrive...I sat there, staring at the letter. I picked it up and read it again for the umpteenth time. Dear Reina Dawson, Your transport will arrive tomorrow. The driver will come at 1.30pm and you will arrive at our orphanage at around 2.00 pm. Please pack only the essentials. We await your arrival. Yours sincerely, Mrs Winnie Supra I threw the letter with as much force as I could muster. It landed forlornly on the floor. Why me? All of a sudden, a wet drop splashed on my hand. Only then, I realized I had been crying. I longed for the comforting presence of a mother figure, but that was impossible. Both my parents had been involved in a fatal car accident just a day ago. I had been at my aunt's house as that day had been 'Adults' Day', in which my parents would go on an outing by themselves. Alas, fate dealt it's deadly cards. By a terrible twist of fate, my parents died. They died. The enormity of the word hit me as I collapsed on the ground. My eyes blurred by tears, I groped blindly around for the letter. There it was. I ripped it to shreds. My hands shook as I wiped away my tears. This was a load of nonsense. I wasn't an orphan. Why should I belong in an orphanage? I refused to accept the hard cold truth. It wasn't even true! "This is fake! My parents are downstairs, doing something!" I screamed at no one in particular. As if to assure myself, I lumbered down the stairs leading to my room to find my parents. The living room was empty. The kitchen was deserted. Their bedroom bore no hints at all that someone, actually 2 someones, had been in there. I stumbled out to the toilet. I was greeted by silence. There was no terrible singing of a particularity cheerful father or a soft but melodious hum of a kind mother. Only silence. I went up the stairs again. I desperately went to the last room, the toilet on my room's floor. I heard a soft humming. "Mum!" I squealed. But then I saw a bee, perched innocently on the open window sill. The last flicker of hope within me was cruelly put out by the waves of despair. I walked numbly back into my room. #lifelessly, I slumped in my chair. Then I succumbed to my emotions and threw my pencil across the room. By chance, the pencil knocked down the family picture. The only family picture I had left fell to the floor with a heart-wrenching crack. I rushed forward, muttering angrily at myself. What had I done? Cracks distorted my parents faces, but my face was undamaged. My smile stared back at me. The picture clattered to the floor with a soft thunk. "Chance," I whispered. "Chance!" My head swiveled up to the clock. It read 1.25 pm. Since I'd it gotten the letter the previous day, it meant that the transport was arriving in 5 minutes. I pick up the picture. With utmost care, I took out the unmarked picture itself. I grabbed a plastic folder from my shelf and slotted the picture into it. Then, slowly, I pack clothes, the folder, other essentials, my pencil case and a few books into a white suitcase which belonged to my mother. Then it was 1.30pm and time to go. I grabbed my completed homework, washed my face, took one last look at my now empty room, and remembered something. I walked to the table, opened a small red box and stared at the tiny necklace inside. The necklace was a silver heart attached to a long metal chain. I pried open the heart. In one half was a photo of my family. In the other was a slip of paper. Gently, I eased out the paper and read the short massage. We love you forever. No matter where we are, you can still find us-in your heart. Love, Mom and Dad. I replaced the paper and closed the heart. I fitted the neck lace around my neck. The box was left on the table. The heart lay cold on my chest.