Young Writers Society

As I walked around the rubble my eyes had begun to water, and my body started to shake. I had not been in this orphanage in more than twenty years.

My long time boyfriend, Dalton, walked up behind me, “Are you ok?”

“Yes. I just need a break. Lets go out to lunch.” I stood still as Dalton lead the way out.

While Dalton drove out to Max and Erma’s, our favorite restaurant, I saw in the passenger seat and watched him. His hair was long and shaggy. The color of sand in Hawaii, his hair shifted. His unshaven faced showed how carefree he was with his appearance. Such a soft blonde, the stubble on his chin was barely noticeable. Dalton’s face looked young and lively. Even though through it’s thirty years of living it had seen terrifying scenes of murder and molestation. My own being five years older than his had seen the same horrifying unknown trial and error.

As we got to max and Erma’s he rolled into the parking lot, and he found a parking space close to the front door. Dalton took a sigh as he opened the silver door of his mustang and got out of the car. I took a step out, and held his hand as we walked towards the door. Five minutes after we arrived a waiter by the name of Scott seated us near the bar. Scott left for a few seconds, and came back to have place rolls and butter upon our table.

Dalton took a roll and buttered then placed it on a plate. I did the same as Dalton prayed before we ate. Soon our waiter came back, and asked us what we would be drinking that afternoon. I got a flamingo drink, and Dalton got a fresh brewed beer. My drink consisted of sprite and a cherry flavoring. I played with the cherry between my teeth before I bit off the stem, and I flicked it at Dalton. He flinched and brushed the stem to the ground.

“I remember the first time I was punished at that awful place. I had back talked and refused to go to bed like every one else. One of the male workers pulled me by my arms to a small dark room with one bed, and a tray full of needles. I knew he was going to stick me with one of those needles so I screamed bloody murder. He turned around so fast I could feel the wind whirling about. My teeth sunk into his hand as it covered my mouth. He seemed to be un phased by it all. The needle pierced my skin, and when he took it out blood and a clear liquid oozed out of my arm. Maybe fifteen minutes later I passed out on to that old creaky bed,” Dalton said all of this clear and slow.

Taking his time his took a sip from his beer. Obviously I had disrupted a flash back in time for Dalton. At the mention of the male worker I knew he was talking about David. David was built like Hercules. His arms bulged out to astonishing proportions. The bald head on that man shone brighter each day, but to see the top of it you had to be over six feet tall. He was use to all the screaming and fighting of kids by the time the building closed. As a kid he too lived within those brick walls. When he turned twenty he agreed to work there, and it was because he thought he could of changed the way the kids lived. At first David was nice to the many children who lived there, but gave up once he was under a strict agreement. It stated that David was just an employee, and there was nothing he could do to change the system that was held in place. The consequence of such an agreement were dire. Still he stayed, and maybe it was because through all that time he still cared.

“David.” I took a long gulp of my drink.

Dalton nodded in remembrance as the waiter came back, and took our orders. I got a whiskey burger with French fries, and Dalton got three pieces of baked fish with a loaded potato. When Scott walked away Dalton buttered another roll and started to pick at it.

I wanted to talk about something, anything besides that orphanage, but that was the only thing plowing through my mind. Dalton did not seem to mind the quit as he finished his roll, and begun to fidget. Silence seemed to satisfy our beings as I had a conversation in my head. All of my memories had been bad of that orphanage after the court case, but as I sat there and remembered the ruins I remembered all the fun I use to have with fellow orphans.

*Daltons point of view*

I was looking over at Tiffany and wondered if she held the same memories as I. She looked gorgeous with her dirty blonde butt length hair. Her green eyes were orbs full of beauty and mystic. The complexion of her skin was so fair her cheeks were already turning red. Tiffany was short with a medium build, but nonetheless he loved her.

Here our waiter came as I was about to ignite conversation. Scott warned us the plates were hot as he sat them down. I watched as Tiffany placed her napkin along her lap and dipped a French fry into some honey mustard. As I looked down at my own food the steam rose up my nose. Licking my lips I picked up a knife and fork to cut some of my fish. We ate along with some small talk. When finished I picked up the bill, and paid the waiter. Tiffany left the tip, and she held my hand as we walked out to the car.

I opened the car door for her, and helped her in. Shutting the door I went over to the driver’s side of the car. She insisted we go back to the orphanage. I on the other hand felt rather queasy about the whole thing. It was Tiffany’s idea to come visit the ruins after we had watched the court case on television. For the twenty fifth anniversary of the orphanage’s closing. I parked on the street, and sat in the car while tiffany jumped out and fearlessly walked towards the entrance of the building.

She looked ravishing with her dark washed jeans, that rode a little too low, and her tight t-shirt that pulled at her chest. The wind whipped through her hair, and pushed it into her face. I stepped out of the car, and briskly walked closer to tiffany. She stopped for me to catch up so we could walk in together.

At the front of the building there had once been a waiting room. It once held families who either wanted to pick up or drop off children. Now broken glass and steel panels from the ceiling occupied the floor. The two big steel doors that went from the waiting room to the rest of the orphanage barely hung from their hinges. The push sign that once was painted a bright blue on the doors was now looking faded and worn. Tiffany opened the doors with a push of her finger. The eerie creak mixed with silence had spooked her. I could see the goose bumps as they rose on her arm.

She lead the way into the room that once was filled with children who played carelessly. Rammed in the back right corner of the room was a wooden encasement that we use for cubby holes. On the wall was mold and busted up plaster. Holes and cracks of any sort multiplied in certain spots of the walls. Many holes covered the ceiling along with spider webs and dead insects. Tiffany was already in the right corner inspecting the cubby holes. I turned towards her before she let out a loud shriek.

“ What is it?” I went over to her side.

That’s when I saw the little mouse come scurrying out from behind the cubby holes. I laughed at her, and picked up the little furry creature. She, on the other hand, didn’t think it was too funny. Letting the mouse down I ran my hand over the old dusty wooden fixture. I shuddered as my fingers ran along some indentations.

“Help,’ I whispered to myself as I shut my eyes tightly.

When this place was opened the furniture was replaced every year so the families looking to adopt children would think the place was well kept, and that we lived as best we could. We were suppose to clean out our cubby hole so they could throw the old piece of furniture out into the street for the trash to pick it up.

One of the younger kids, Samson, took his plastic fork from lunch the previous day, and carved help into the side of the wood. He thought some one would read it and come investigate. Of course all the older and more experienced kids knew it was no use, and that Sam would get in trouble for it. When David came in to drag the wooden encasement outside, and saw the carved word he called, on his walkie talkie, his boss to come down and see it.

She was a short fat wale looking of a person. The whole room vibrated with each step she would take. Scarlet, that was her name, was disgusted at the fact that one of the kids had abused her property. At first no one would admit that they did it, but tattle telling Tommy could not hold it in. He ratted out Sammy. Scarlet had David grab him by his collar, and drag him out of the room. When David came back all five hundred eyes were on him. He yelled at us, and told us to get back to playing.

The next day Samson still was not back, but nobody had enough courage to ask where he was. No one dared to even talk about it until a new kid came in and took over Sam’s cubby hole and bed. At the time we all guessed he had been adopted or transferred to another orphanage. Now we know that was not the truth. The court showed what really happened to Sammy and it was not pretty, like so many others.

*Tiffany’s point of view*

I walked over to Dalton, who had became extremely silent, and I could sense extreme sadness. As I peered over his shoulder I saw Samson’s note. When I realized what Dalton was probably thinking I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind much.

‘Sammy, poor Sammy.” I walked over to the cubby to take a closer look.

I blew at the dust and was surprised to find some thing in the blackness of the cubby. I was afraid that it was another animal of some sort. So I had Dalton put his arm in the cubby and grab it. Dirt clung in it’s eyes and hair. The doll looked creepy and odd being left all alone. Children usually were deeply attached to their dolls, and to find one left in this abandoned building was surely unique. Some how this doll looked vaguely familiar. The idea just wouldn’t leave my head. Dalton handed me the doll, and he took a few steps back. I wondered what was wrong, but then I took another good look at the doll.

The dress hung low and heavy on the doll. Blue, red, green, and white, this dress had been home made. Only one little girl that I can remember had such a doll. Her name was Brandy, and she had been at the orphanage her whole life.

At the age of eight Brandy tried to run away. She went into the bathroom, and she stood on a toilet to reach the lowest window. At that time the janitor slash security guy, Chance, was making his rounds that day, and was going around cleaning. He caught her standing on the toilet steadying herself. Chance dragged her away from the window as she screamed bloody murder. Brandy wouldn’t shut up so he threatened to tell Scarlet, but Brandy didn’t care. Every one was afraid and pessimistic of Chance. Instead Chance pushed her little body against the wall, and he stuck his tongue down her throat. David heard all the commotion and opened the door leading to the bathroom, and in an auto-mat-tic reaction he shoved Chance off of her. Once Brady fled the bathroom David began to straggle Chance.

Scarlet was notified, and by the time she showed up David had Chance on the floor and he was banging his brains out. Some how her presence stopped the whole sense, but Chance wasn’t done. Early on in the investigation the detectives found out that he had nearly raped more than fifty of the young girls multiple times, and murdered one.

Brandy was found dead in the employees bathroom. Her socks were tied together and shoved in her mouth. Some of her hair was ripped out in clumps. Pieces of her scalp were connected to some of the hair that clogged the drain. All though multiple accounts of mutilation was done to Brandy’s body the thing that killed her was a single gunshot to the head. When a faculty member found her she had been positioned to sit against the wall. Having been there all night long the body slumped on the floor and made a bloody streak on the wall. Of course Brandy had no family, but she had those of us who knew her best at the orphanage.

I looked over at Dalton and dropped the doll on the floor. As it made an echoed thud on the floor tears flooded my cheeks. How could something so horrible have happened to some one so innocent? Dalton didn’t know what to do so he grabbed me by my waist and held me tight. I buried my face into his chest and let out years of frustration. I had no idea why I was crying. I watched the trial on television, and I saw the terrible evidence. I lived through it! I didn’t even shed a tear, and now here I am crying over the many stories I already knew.

Dalton must think I’m crazy. First I made him take me to the orphanage, and then I’m crying hysterically. When I drew away from Dalton’s arms I picked up the doll. I often visit Brandy grave. We weren’t friends, but she deserves to have her grave cleaned and looked after. This doll should be put by her grave.

*Dalton’s point of view*

I wondered if Tiffany should take the doll. Of course no one would care if we took it, but it’s almost like we’re disturbing a beast that has been asleep for a hundred years. This beast is growling, waiting to feast on us like a ravishing monster. I can already feel it tugging on my organs and chomping on my soul. Some thing inside me told me not to tell Tiffany. So I didn’t say anything as she put the doll in her pocket, and she walked out into the main room. This room was some what like the entertaining room for families who wanted to adopt. When I entered the room I immediately looked at the stairs that were just to the right of us.

Those stairs contained fears, hopes, lies, and courage. Much more happened on those stairs then they have the ability to show. The stairs were still fully in contact, and you could probably walk on them. I felt slow as I put effort into having lethargy. This was so tiffany would inspect the stairs before me. We weren’t going upstairs because the floor upstairs was probably rotted, but Tiffany still wanted to go up a few stairs. She wanted to take a peek at the upper level. That’s were the experiments Scarlet often performed and slow deaths occurred. I got a headache as I sat on the last step and closed my eyes.

I was probably four when an older orphan, Billy, caught me playing on the steps. A family who really liked me, but couldn’t afford to adopt me had given me a plastic toy fire truck. He was jealous, and thought he could trick me. He told me some lie about how he would give me a surprise if I came up the stairs. Being a gullible little boy I thought he was being largess so I did as he said. When I got up to the top of the stairs Billy proceeded to take my truck and push me down the stairs. I watched him throw my truck on the ground and stomp it with his feet. I cried long and hard after it got dark. David came around the corner and took me in his arms. It was the only affection I ever saw from David.

Tiffany slowly walked down the stairs with some thing in her hands.

‘I think this belongs to you.’ She sat beside me and handed me an unrecognizable piece of plastic.

‘No it couldn’t be,” I said.

I turned the flattened piece of plastic over in my hands, and saw that on the other side it was a dusty red. How it survived up there all this time is beyond me. I wanted to desperately go upstairs now, but it was too much of a risk.

“Where did you find this?” I asked glaring at the floor.

‘It was wedged between the wall and the stairs.” Tiffany stroked my hair and rested her hand on my back.

It’s astonishing how over periods of time some things last and others don’t. My head started to swirled with thoughts. Human beings have perished through all this time, but something so materialistic and meaningless can last. Those things can last beyond time itself. I took good look at Tiffany. I know I wanted what we have to last, but what do we even have? I’m not expecting Tiffany to hold al the answers because that would be to easy for all of us. Taking Tiffany’s hand I helped her up. The labyrinth of our past should hold us together until no end. It’s all too crazy the story of our lives. By the time my mind stops rolling Tiffany has pasted the stairs, and she was looking at the room itself. What if she had her own horror story? I mean I’m sure she does, but would she share it with me? Like I had shared my fire truck story. She was so much deeper than me. Would I want her to explain such gruesome details?