The Refuge

Part 1 - Aleris POV

Some people don't dream enough. I dream a world few could imagine, full of things that the mind couldn't comprehend until it's seen with your very own eyes. Personally, I believe a world like that exists, right under our noses. Some people would just call that thought insane.

They tell me "Keep your head in reality." But that's no fun.

I imagine a world where it is fun, a place of people you couldn't find in your day to day life. People who live a fantasy every day as a reality. I'd like to live in that world.

My eyes focused back into real life. A pencil was sat in my hand, a piece of paper on the desk in front of me. I glanced over at my phone as a notification lit up my screen. It wasn't anything important. My gaze went to the bottom of my phone and began following the cable that went up to my ears. There was no music playing; I can't even remember putting the earphones in. I looked back at the paper. Absentmindedly, I had sketched a man. He was young with red hair the colour of chili peppers. There were two other men, both exactly like the other. Greyish skin, clothed in a fashionable black suit.

I leaned back in my chair. It wasn't a desk chair, just a normal chair. The sort of chair you might find in a classroom. Tilting my head back, I stared at the ceiling. I never understood why people put pictures, posters and the alike on walls. It makes the room feel smaller, more crowded. That's why I put my drawings on the ceiling. There was an array of colours - the grey of unfinished sketches, the pale colours of pencil and the bright, clean colours produced by my markers. Drawing wasn't just a passion to me. It's like a diary. I create to put my thoughts on to paper, making my own world as I do so.

I stood up, taking my ear phones out and walked over to my mirror. My hair was sat on the top of my head in a messy bun. Tugging at the hairband I let my dark locks tumble down to my shoulders. My hair was slightly curled from being up for so long. Carefully, I pulled a brush through my hair, taking out all the knots. Next was my face. It was currently bare, without makeup. I put on my eyeliner, making my grey eyes look brighter. It didn't take long before I was finished. I slipped off my pyjama top and bottoms and exchanged it for a pair of white jeans and a muted red jumper. I was ready for the day.

Like a ghost, I walked past everyone in the house. If I didn't bother them, they weren't going to bother me. Children younger than me waddled by, shrieking with happiness. At that age, mornings were easy. In fact, staying in bed was a nightmare. I wish I could still be that age and not only to make mornings easier. As the oldest in the home, I was the least likely to get adopted. It's one of the reasons I don't get particularly attached to anyone here. They'll probably end up leaving anyway.

As I entered the kitchen, I was hit with a strong, sweet aroma that seemed to only linger in the one room. At the table sat children, varying in ages, eating their breakfast of fresh pancakes. Two of our social workers raced around like worker ants, feeding the ones too young to feed themselves or stopping the bicker before it becomes a food fight. A small part of me wanted to help but I knew I would be shooed away. Here, I was like the outcast but I didn't really mind. It's better than constantly being bugged to do this and that. Today wasn't the day that was going to change. I simply picked up my plate of pancakes and continued minding my own business.

I was lucky to have my own room. All the other kids had to share with at least one person, but not me. As the oldest orphan, I've got my privileges. Not only was it my room but it was also the biggest bedroom too. To this day, I don't understand what it was that allowed me to have such a spacious room to myself, but whatever it was I was thankful for it. I sat crossed legged while eating my pancakes, letting my mind wonder freely. The sweetness of syrup reminded me of a home, but not my real home. In my head, I was sat at a table, a man on one side and a woman on the other. In this dreamlike world, they were faceless and that could only mean they were my parents. I've never met my parents and as far as any records go, I don't have any either. I was mere months old when I had been found literally on the doorstep of the orphanage that I've lived in all my life. All that I came with was a little note saying "Aleris" which was assumed to be my name but, when looked up to see where I came from, there was nothing. Nothing at all. I glanced over at a framed drawing that sat on my bedside table. It was a self-portrait of myself with two silhouettes that had question marks for faces. For many years, I only wanted to find out who I really was but the older I got, the more I realised how impossible it was. It meant I began to hate my real name, since I didn't know who 'Aleris' was, so I always introduce myself as Ally.

No one has ever considered adopting me ever either. I've always been "Too odd" or "Too quiet" and now that I'm even older, my chances of ever having a family are slimmer. Nobody wanted to adopt me, a teenager. In complete honesty, I'd come to terms with this fact a long time ago and it didn't really bother me anymore. I guess I'm not cut out for being a daughter. However, I can't say I wasn't jealous of those who had families. Everyone spoke of how their mum bought them this beautiful dress or how their dad took them to their favourite band's concert. Not me. I stayed in my room whenever I wasn't at school, drawing or listening to music. If anyone was going to have a boring, average life it's me.