The Child Of The Stars

The street on which the 4th District Orphanage sat was dimly lit on a good day. The lamppost bulbs are burnt out all down the way to the main street – though a few still work once Apollo has gone home for night – where most of the town’s shops and people live. Every now and then, I hear a car rumble down the gravel street, which my window faces.

Suddenly, from downstairs I hear a man call my name. “KALOMOIRA!” he yells. I can recognize that voice anywhere. The man calling me is Mister Gilbert Saunders. Director of 4th District Orphanage and ‘caretaker of children’. He is the iron fist that rules this place.

“Coming, sir!” I hop out of bed and down the hall of bedrooms that lead to the stairs. Each door is labeled, like animal cages. The door nearest to the stairs is Phonisha and Josephine’s. On the left of the stairs is the boys’ hall, where the closest door is Everett and George’s.

“KALOMOIRA! NOW!” he screams from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m right here,” I say. “What do you need, sir?”

“Scrub the kitchen,” he says in a harsh, unfriendly tone.

“Yes, sir,” I say sarcastically. He looks at me with a glare that could cut marble. I walk through the separate rooms that fill this place. Connected to the foyer is the dining room where every kid comes to eat when Mr. Saunders rings his bell. Through a door past the table is the kitchen. Dirt covers the floor from the other kids coming inside after playing in the muddy streets, and the countertops are littered with spilled messes and dirty pots from cooking. I sigh, and unlock the cleaning closet next to the pantry. Old mops and half-broken brooms fall with a clatter to the floor. The stench of bleach and other cleaning products hits my nose with a stunning waft.

“Ugh…” I sigh and grab a mop. I fill the bucket with water and mop fluid, and dip the mop in. I squeeze the bristles slightly, and the mop’s bristles fall to the floor with a plop.

I start mopping the grime off, and after almost an hour, the floor looks somewhat better. The grout between the tiles is permanently stained brown from the accumulation of dirt over time. I dump out the mop water in the sink and start working on the counters. Half an hour later, metal pots are stacked over my head around the sink, and old food and sauce stain the counters. “Everyone here is nasty…” I grab a sponge and wet it. I pour dish soap onto the counter and let it sit for a minute. I scrub the counters with the sponge, and the food comes off easily. I throw the sponge into the sink and take a pot from the teetering stack. I run scalding hot water and pour dish soap into the pot. It coats the sides, and move to the next pot. I squirt more soap onto it, and by the time I’m at the last pot, I squeeze the bottle, but the soap has completely run out.

I groan and rinse the pots. I leave the last pot on the counter and walk to the director.

“Mister Saunders?” I say, and he turns to me with a frightening glare.

“What do you want, Kalomoira?” he says. He ends my name with disdain in his voice, and he enunciates the K.

“We’re out of dish soap. M-may I have some money to run to the store?” I ask. He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “We’re out of DISH SOAP? How much did you use? Stupid idiots…” he ends his sentence by whispering. He pulls out a thick wallet and hands a 20 dollar bill. He slowly hands it over to me, and I take it from his hands.

“Thank you, sir.” he nods and waves me away. I can hear him muttering about how stupid we are. I run upstairs to my room to get ready.

I look at my bedroom door. On the nameplate is my name and my old roommate’s name.

“Annabella Deneroux,” I whisper. On her 18th birthday, she was kicked out of the orphanage. She aged out. I open my door and look to the left of the room. That was Anna’s side. All that’s left is her empty desk and a stripped bed. We were best friends, and he just kicked her out like she was nothing.

She was always the one I could run to whenever I was sad, angry, or really any emotion. She was like my older sister. For as long as I could remember, she was always there with me. When she turned 16, she was allowed to go outside on her own, and she’d sneak me out with her.

On the night before her 18th birthday, she was told to start packing her things for the morning. She was given an envelope with 100 dollars in cash and a bus ticket to Seattle, all the way across the country. She sat me down on her bed and sat down next to me.

“Kalo... I’m sorry, I have to leave. When you get out, you can always find me in Seattle. I promise. I’ll always be here for you, even if I can’t be with you in person.” She said, and taking off her gold bracelet, which her mom gave her when she was really young. “This got me through being alone. It’ll get you through being alone, too. I love you, Kalo.” She hugged me tight and clasped the bracelet onto my wrist. As my tears started to roll down my face, and Mr. Saunders called Anna downstairs. It was time for her to go.

` “Goodbye, Anna...” I whispered after her as she left the room. The next morning, when I woke up, her bed was already stripped and the room cleared. The thin gold bracelet weighed heavily on my wrist as I realized I was alone.

I feel tears pricking at my eyes, but I quickly rub them away and get dressed to go out. I rummage through my closet and find one of my favorite dresses. It’s dark blue with light blue star-shaped patches on the skirt. I slip it on, and put on some black leggings. I grab my shoes right by the door. They’re regular sneakers, though I painted them yellow and added suns on them when I was bored. I put on a yellow headband. It contrasts with my black hair really well, and I love wearing it. I look in my mirror, and think I look great. My dark blue eyes mix with the dress perfectly, making me look even better. I grab the twenty-dollar bill and head out through the front door.

As I walk through the shaded road that the orphanage is on, the lampposts flicker slightly. After a few minutes, the road leads out to the main stretch of town. I walk down the paved sidewalk and reach the plaza where the people hang out and play in the park. I keep walking, and pass an alley way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a slight bit of movement. I turn to the alley, and call out,

“Hello?” Nothing answers. I walk down a little more and find a flipped-over cardboard box. Whatever’s inside is moving inside, unable to get out. Worried that it’s a rat, I slowly crouch down. I squint my eyes, and reach for the corners of the box. I quickly lift the box, revealing an adorable black can with green eyes.

“Aww… poor thing,” I say quietly. “Are you lost? Let me see your collar.” I reach out, and the cat slowly backs up.

“It’s okay. I promise.” I say, and the cat walks toward me tentatively. I reach out my hand, and he nuzzles into it. I slowly pick him up, and he doesn’t fight at all. I look for a collar, but his neck is empty. I look over his fur for any visible cuts or scratches, but there are none at all. Even his fur is well-groomed.

“Does someone take care of you?” I whisper to him. I take him out of the alleyway and back into the street. I let him go onto the floor, but he stays next to my foot.

“Go back to your family…” I try to shoo him off. He stays right next to me. I sigh and keep walking. I make it to the supermarket, and he follows me in. “You can’t come in.” I try to keep him out, but he remains next to me. I get an idea. I grab a shopping cart, and put him in the baby holder.

“There. You’re a service animal now.” I say, and he looks oddly satisfied. I pet his head, and he nuzzles into it. I push him through the aisles and find the cleaning products section. I grab a bottle of dish soap and a bar of soap for myself. As I’m walking to the checkout, I pass the pet food section and throw in a can of pet food. I guide the cart down the aisles and pay for the items. I hand over the twenty, and the cashier hands me back 5 dollars and 17 cents.

I return the cart, and take the cat out. We walk back down the street, passing the different stores. People smile or wave as I pass. We get toward the orphanage, and he obediently stays by my side the whole time. The cracked road down to the orphanage is bumpy and dark due to the tree canopies overhanging the road. We make it to the front door, and I bend over and pet him one last time. I open the food can.

“You have to go now,” I say quietly. “Mr. Saunders won’t let you in here.” The cat meows softly, not wanting to leave. He eventually walks under the steps and lays down. As I walk in, I see George teary-eyed as Mr. Saunders yells at him harshly.

“You can’t use that stuff on the tile! It will ruin the color!” He spits at him, and slaps his hand. “Go to your room! NOW!” He yells, and George runs up the stairs.

“Woah woah woah! Don’t talk to George like that! How was he supposed to know that?” I yell at Mr. Saunders defensively.

“Who do you think you are, Kalomoira? You don’t get to disrespect me.” He responds angrily, and George shakes his head at me while holding his wrist, standing at the top of the stairs. I nod back at him.

“You need to apologize. You have no right to yell at him for something you didn’t warn him about!” Mr. Saunders scowls at me.

I stomp across the room to him, and hand him the cash back. He counts it out and pauses.

“Five dollars and 17 cents? That’s it? Kalomoira…” I hear him raise his voice again. “What could you have possibly spent 15 dollars on at the store! I told you to get DISH SOAP and NOTHING else!” He yells and grabs my wrist. He slaps it firmly, leaving a red mark.

“I-I’m sorry sir… I got some bar soap for myself.” I say quietly.

“You think I don’t provide enough for you?! Speak up Kalomoira!” He slaps my wrist again. “A stupid name for a STUPID girl!” He stares at me with the same look he did earlier. “Go to your room. Don’t even think about coming out. No dinner tonight.” He slaps my wrist again, and harder. It stings worse.

“Y-yes sir…” I manage to say through gritted teeth and teary eyes.

I walk up the foyer stairs and down the hallway to my room. I see Josephine at the end of the hallway, staring at the floor. She must have heard the argument. I don’t say anything, closing my door. I slump onto my bed, and try to sleep.