The orphanage was heaven and hell altogether, angels with broken wings roamed it's corridors waiting for redemption in life. The main entrance to the compound was a massive ten feet metal door that made obnoxious strident screech waking up the dead when opening.
Seasons have performed irreversible deeds upon the once proud and elegant mansion of Greenfield. According to the children, it was once owned by the creatures of night, the chiroptera blood sucking monsters that possessed long claws and canines that could rip the souls of their preys out in a cold blood.
Surely that was nothing but a fabricated lie, or was it the truth? I am not certain. The moment these cheeky children commenced telling such nightmares, my little heart throbbed against its feeble chest and I would go sleepless nights constantly recreating the images from their dreadful tales. Sometimes, I would hear grieving moans during the night and Austin, my friend and roommate, would crawl in my bed and tell me that those were cries of the dead still roaming around and couldn't find peace from the harsh devour of their murderers. Shut your big blabbing mouth or go back to your bed!
Aunt Liz then assured me that the moans were from the harmless owls that took shelter in the mansion's roof and that the establishment was once owned by the late Andrew E. Greenfield in the early 18th Century and it was passed down the generation since then until the year 1983 it was handed over to the Church of Saints (COS) and was later converted into an orphanage.
The outside walls were a living museum frame. Some bricks were partially eroded through abrasion from the strong winds of winter yet still immensely thick while others were still rigid and stout like they've been placed the day before. I could not precisely tell the colour of the walls at a glance, from the brown residue enclosing the million feet tall walls to a faint greyish-white infested with emerald green algae on the wet concrete.
During our play time in the vast yet limited environment, one could clearly point out how gabled the roof was with dormers all around. So ancient yet the building stood with sumptuous architecture.
The insides were nothing like the outsides. Hallways connected few halls where we attended our classes and other curriculum activities. Every hall had the same astonishing paint, a deep grey colour with dark brown curtain covers almost as long as the walls. Of course the windows were that enormous, Mr Rogers, the orphanage janitor, normally used his rusty movable ladder while opening and closing them. One could clearly see him panting furiously afterwards from the massive sliding of the heavy covers. "One day he's gonna fall off that old squeky piece of a metal he calls a ladder, just watch," Austin joked.
The hallways led to our residence and dormitories. The girls had their own wing and so did the boys while the main quarters were strictly reserved to the senior members of the orphanage, the likes of our Headmistress- Miss Hornbill, Aunt Liz, Madam Beatrice and few others while the remaining smaller rooms were occupied by the junior staff. Mr Rogers resided in the servant quarters down the main basement.
The morning routines were hardly a piece of cake. Rise and shine at exactly six o'clock in the morning and we were expected to be ready downstairs in the next hour. One thing so disturbing and infuriating was how Mr. Rogers woke us up. A resounding and prolonged ringing of bells from both hands that produced a raucous sound as he walked past our rooms. With his deep grave yet old voice he would call out " wake up you lazy good for nothing bones! Some of your parents got rid of you cause they hell knew what a piece of work you were " and he would mumble something about not getting paid enough as he went along. How discourteous of him. Usually the girls were early to arrive downstairs, very cooperating and less combative while the sluggard lot would arrive much later.
Waiting in line in the loos during bath time was another nightmare, some kids will take a whole decade in there trying to attain a more pleasing texture, while others would sit down on the bath floors and and start weeping that you would hear their sobbing and snivels outside the facilities. This was so exasperating until one time, Ethan, one of my roommates, gave Austin and me a little dirty idea. We carefully detached the removable shower knob from the last bathroom stall rendering the shower vessel functionless.
Every time we walked in the facilities, the last bathroom was vacant despite the crowd waiting and I would majestically walk in with my knob, connect it to the shower vessel and walk out with the precious tool after my shower.
Austin was next observing the same protocol. After we lot were down, we would match to the dining hall and have our breakfast - three toasts of bread, one boiled egg and some tea. Other days we were lucky enough to be served with fruits, mostly during the weekends. Classes would commence right after the ten minutes parade and we would break during the lunch hours.
Sister Emilia usually summoned us when there was need of any congregation, could be meal hours, parade, time for classes, prayers time and others if needed be. She was a middle-heighted woman in her late twenties but looked like she was dwelling somewhere between her thirties. She had a rather limp-thin body with wasp waisted waist that was evidently visible from the ash grey belt wrapped around her. Her pale skin almost blanched would turn peachy red when she stood in the morning assemblies. Her ocean blue eyes deep socketed in her round shaped skull were ringed by tint dark circles.
From what Aunt Liz told me, she grew up in the orphanage and unpropitiously, she was never adopted and decided to dedicate her entire life to the service of God. Sometimes I felt sorry for the woman, in a good way that is. What if I ended up like Emilia, socially and emotionally dictated inside these walls and never to experience the light of life?
I could never know for every being is a pencil to the hands of the Most High. Maybe I was too young to contemplate the decisions made by others, I might say I hardly swam out of the comfort of my fantasies.
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"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." - John Lennon.
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