"You lazy, good-for-nothing, pain in the neck!" I hear a scream.
That was Mrs. Gertrude, our caretaker, who is fondly known among us orphans as 'The Witch'. Truth be told, she is worse than a witch. While most witches turn you into a toad or a bat or a hippo, she turns you into a pariah, an outcast in front of everyone.
I hack at the firewood, releasing all my hopelessness, frustration and resentment. Not just at 'The Witch', but at life as well.
Why did things have to be this way? Why am I deprived of a proper life? Why do I have no family? I’ve been asking these questions to myself and to life, but I fail to find an answer. I always do.
A few years back, I heard a little girl sing: ‘Tomorrow will be kinder.’ Her name was Maria. She was a tiny little thing, barely six years old. Her parents couldn’t afford to care for her, so they left her here. But she died a few months later, for she fell ill in one of the harshest winters we had experienced. But what set her apart from the rest of us was her spirit. Her wide blue eyes glimmered till the very end.
Nearly all my thoughts are morbid, melancholic, and morose. Somewhere along these years, I lost my fighting spirit. It was replaced by bitterness and hopelessness. I have no happy memories to hold on to, no loving words of a parent to comfort me, no happy laughter of a sibling to rekindle the dead spirit of the warrior inside me.
Maria’s song should comfort me, bring me hope, but all I can think is whether I do have a tomorrow.