"ʜɪs ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪs ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪs"
"ʜɪs sᴍɪʟᴇ ɪs ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇʀs"
"ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ʜɪs ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ's ᴇʏᴇs"
"ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ʜɪs ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ's ғᴀᴄᴇ"
"ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ɴᴏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜᴇ's ɪɴ"
Eleven-year-old Malcolm Ellewood was left an orphan, not knowing much about his family, only what was told to...
If I could burn it to the ground, I wouldn't think twice. To have a chance, though, would be very unlikely. What's even more unlikely is to have a eleven-year-old like me committing that kind of crime. As much as I don't want to go to prison, I feel like I'm already there. This place is a living nightmare. Why did Aunt Beatrice have to die? It's not fair. You know what I think? I think that heart attacks shouldn't exist. Who needs them anyway...all they do is take away good people. I was suppose to live with her forever...or at least till I could make it on my own.
But no, here I am at a gloomy orphanage sitting on a creaky bed that drives springs into my spine when I try to sleep, looking at the raindrops sliding down the window and imagining of better places. A place with Aunt Beatrice.
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A place with my parents maybe.
A nice place, in a pretty meadow with flowers. A house that's not too big and not too small but just right for three people...or maybe more. Maybe I'd have a sister or brother, one I can tease and play with. Mom would be cooking something, like lasagna or...roasted chicken. I love roasted chicken. And Dad, he'd be reading a book. A very thick book, filled with a lot of big words, words that I wouldn't understand. Aunt Beatrice said my father loved books. She's also said I look exactly like my mom in the face, but I have my dad's eyes. They're grey. Well, Aunt Beatrice called them silver. Silver sounds nicer than grey, at least that's what I think...and I guess Aunt Beatrice too. Like someone melted down a silver ingot and poured it into my eyes. Oh ouch. That would be very hot and painful wouldn't it? Maybe I shouldn't think about them like that.
I rub my eyes, trying to erase the image of someone pouring hot metal gloop into someone else's eyes from my mind and replace it with the meadow-house. Maybe one day I'll find that meadow-house and live there, with someone I love. Though I think it's impossible to find love here...almost everyone I know is rude to me—
"Metal-Eyes!" A jeering voice calls. Only one person could hold such a voice. I don't respond, only continue to stare out the window. "Hey Dreamy! I'm talking to you!" A harsh punch arrives on my shoulder, almost knocking me off the bed and onto the floor. That's definitely gonna bruise...
"What Tayte." I stay as steadily as I can.
"Mrs. Hannigan told me to tell you to get your arse downstairs if you want something to eat."
"I'm not hungry." I mumble.
"Good, maybe you'll starve." He chuckled at his own, dumb joke.
"Starving would be a better alternative than putting up with you." I say, my eyes still not leaving the window.
"Say that again Metal-Eyes and you'll be seeing stars for a week." He spit in my direction, his disgusting saliva landing on my cheek. I used my hand and brushed it away. "So loser, staring out the window again huh? You imagining that you're parents are gonna come back for ya?" He leaned down to get me to look at him. I looked to the side, not wanting to meet those chilling blue eyes.
