Edmond Paul

Chapter IV

      Did I die? I am yet to know, but for the time being, I awoke in a bed unfamiliar to me. I stared at my led, wrapped in bandages. I gazed around this large room I had been dropped in and found many other children sleeping. The moon had risen, and white light filled the room. The other children had dirt on their faces, and age wise, spanned from many years older to my own, to many years younger. A small desk sat next to my bed, and atop it was a note. I picked up this note, and noticed its extreme weight. I unfolded the note, and its contents surprised me. Inside, were 50 Livres. I held the coin to the light of the moon. Its pure silver gave a white shine. I then arose from my bed, and sat up, placing the coins in my lap. I reached over for the note. I straightened the note, and read its print. It stated

Name: Paul, Edmond. Age: Eight

Mother: DECEASED Father: DECEASED Relatives: UNKNOWN

item: current remnants of Paul, Jacques investments in his son, Paul, Edmond. They are now to be gifted upon Paul, Edmond as stated in his will.

Remnants include: 50 Livres.

My father had died.

I had no knowledge of this happening, nor did I witness it in what I thought were my final moments. Tears filled my eyes. I dared not make any noise in this situation. I placed the livres in my pockets and held the note in my cold hands. Sobbing is painful itself, but it is even more painful, when it is silent.

. . .

After a night of sobbing, morning finally came. The children were no longer in their beds. I arose, and rubbed my eyes.
People passed the windows, some having an expression of sorrow, which I assumed was toward me, while others passed ignoring me entirely. I observed my surroundings, and breathed deeply. The room was disgusting and it was cold and unfamiliar.

      I walked over toward the door on my left, and pressed my ear against it. I heard the pleading of children, and cries of hunger. I opened the door, an action I regret doing.
A man with a pot gave porridge to the children. He looked at me as I entered the room. the man abruptly stopped serving children food, and slapped down any reaching bowls. his eyes locked onto me, and my stomach howled as I sat at the end of one long wooden table. More and more children filled the three wooden tables, each holding porridge. the brutish man then lifted the pot and went into another room. Children that had not received food went hungry for that day. But, the older children, whom appeared to be the ages of fourteen, thirteen and fifteen, had stood up and gifted the younger children their porridge.

      A young girl, who seemed my age, sat beside me with food in front of her. Her clothes were ragged and she had brown hair, with freckles. Her head was slumped, as was every child's. She didn't eat, even though every child would fight over a spoon full.

      "Excuse me-" I hadn't even finished my sentence when she shoved her bowl of porridge toward me, even though it wasn't my intention of asking. "No," I said pushing it toward her. "I'm not hungry, but you seem as if you need it." Her head rose, and her face was fully visible. She had hazel eyes that shined, but a dead expression on her face.

"And if I don't want it?" I flinched at her response.

      "Well... Well, that's absurd. Almost every child here is malnourished, we need it." She slumped her head over once more, and a tear fell from her eye. "You don't understand." She got up and left for the room with the beds. Other children did the same. I then left for the other room as well, and was met with a rather disturbing surprise. The children sat atop their beds, legs crossed, and were silent. I walked to my own bed and lied down. The atmosphere was dead, as well as the children's faces.