SECRETS

PROLOGUE (1)

ALAN

My eyes slowly flutter open and I manage to adjust to the sun that's shining through the small window. I hear a lot of people walking around and I sit up on my bed and rub my eye. It wasn't even a bed. Everyone here got these thick white sheets meant for one person, a blanket, and then a pillow.

I look around groggily and then stand up dusting off my night suit. A really light grey button up full sleeved shirt with pants of the same color. This is the only thing me and the fifteen other kids have to wear for the night. My feet move across the room and stand beside a door which looks like is made out of wood that creaks whenever it's walked on. I fold my arms, and lean against the wall and rest my head there and close my eyes.

My name is Alan. Alan, umm.....I don't know. And I'm an orphan. I've been in the orphanage since two years old. You might think this is your local orphanage that normally provides and cherishes the kids here so they can grow up healthy. But no, it's the opposite.

Bleak and oppressive, where the children live in fear and neglect. They get tortured, humiliated, and hurt. But I've been keeping to myself ever since I've arrived, and I'm seven now. The kids here start working at the age of six. It's like child labor. It IS child labor. It's really uneventful and draining, and my hands hurt.

The first time I had ever seen a child get tortured and humiliated was....last night. Yep, last night. And it was during dinner, so I was done eating early. I had given my tray and walked up the stairs and to my room where I stay with the others, and while I was getting ready for bed, the door opened with a loud bang, which had caused me to jump and turn around. The headmaster, a man in his early 30s, was holding a kid by the wrist, and I could already guess that it was bruising. He held a hot iron rod in his hand which I guessed he had heated up right before going for the kid. But the things that I could remember was the sound of the scorching hot iron rod against the kids' wrist, his screams and wailing, and the headmaster's constant taunting. I can still remember that kid's face clear as day. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, his mouth opened as he screamed and squirmed. He looked like he was six or five. Probably six.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when I hear the door of the bathroom open-finally. I sigh and walk in, then close the door behind me. The bathroom was marble white but messy. A sink with a white holder for sixteen toothbrushes, with half the caps for the toothbrushes being lost or something. One used toothpaste kept on the corner. And the place was wet. I bet no one showers at all because of the state of the place. And I don't, either. I do my business, wash my hands and face with water, because there is only one small bar of soap used by each and every of the kids here. Again, there are sixteen kids staying in one room, but I think fifteen of them use it, except for me. I then pickup my toothbrush which I had deemed mine.

I still remember being told that I would be staying in this room, when I got my senses. At four. Or five. Don't really remember. And when I was being shown the bathroom, I noticed the amount of toothbrushes in one holder, and questioned whose was whose, and which one was mine. But the headmaster just chuckled and asked if I was stupid. I was told by one of the kids here, that nobody cares and everyone just brushed their teeth with whatever brush. And my face had contorted into one of disgust. Slightly.

I sigh and push those memories out of my head and pick up a light green toothbrush and brush my teeth, and then rinse my mouth once I'm done. I then stare at myself in the mirror and wipe my wet mouth with my sleeve, not wanting to use the towel. I never did. I continue to stare at myself, as my eyes dart to every feature. Somewhat dark skin, curly hair, these weird plump, but not too plump lips that I don't really like, my eyes which I like to stare at in my reflection for hours, because I can easily get lost in it and all my thoughts can consume me how they like, and lastly, a very young face staring back.