A month passed since Cassian arrived at the orphanage, but for some reason, he learned to survive between loneliness and survival. It went without a routine: wake up, eat, attend classes, retreat into the small cramped room. The walls of the orphanage now turned into the strange boundary for him. A cage, yes, but one through which he could move around.
He wasn't alone, however. Dozens of other kids roamed the same halls, but Cassian learned early on that it didn't matter anyway. Some had been here longer than he, their eyes dulled by the routine, their voices barely above a murmur. Some would leave; they'd be taken in by foster families; others would remain. It made no difference which group he'd be part of.
The matron did not visit him anymore. He hadn't been a problem child, hadn't acted out, hadn't misbehaved, so there was no reason to tend to him. It was almost a relief to fade into obscurity and become invisible. That way he could not, in the least, be hurt. But the thoughts of his parents were a hard thing to eradicate; they would always find a way to creep back in.
It happened in quiet moments, such as when he was lying in bed at night staring at the ceiling. He cannot forget to conjure up their faces before his own—the look in his dad's eyes, the tremble in his mom's voice—before it all came crashing down. The darkness inside felt too big, too suffocating. And when it became too much, there was only one way he knew to escape it.
He would run.
No matter what the time was or where he went, the first time it happened, he jolted awake in the middle of the night, gasping as though he were drowning in his breath. He slid out of bed automatically, putting on his shoes, and left the orphanage with the soft creaking of the door shut behind him. The cool night air hit him, and without thinking, off he ran.
The streets became a maze, and he had no intention of where he was going. He just ran, his legs carrying him as far as they would go. There was something about the motion—the way his muscles burned and his heart pounded in his chest—that made him feel alive—made him forget, at least for a little while, the emptiness that gnawed at him.
Tonight was no different, yet this time he caught sight of the low-hung moon and crossed the pavement under long shadows as he ran down the narrow alleys. His breath came in short gasps, but he pushed himself even harder, his feet pounding against the ground, the wind whipping past him, and the blurred view of the city with its buildings and lights becoming indistinct shapes as he kept his concentration on nothing but the beat of his own movement.
'Perhaps if I run far enough, I'll leave all this behind.'
But no matter how far he ran, the weight of the absent mother and father clung to him. Their voices echoed in his mind—fragments of conversations, memories he wished that he could forget, knowing that he never would. His chest tightened at the familiar ache that returned with its pain, yet still he kept running, for this had been the only remedy known to him to come close to alleviating the pain.
The streets were deserted, littered with a stray cat here and there or a streetlight flickering with a weak, bedside bulb of intensity. He did not pay much mind to where he was going or care much. Every night was the same—run till his legs buckled under, till exhaustion literally forced him to stop. Then he would walk back in silence to the orphanage, unnoticed and unseen.
This night was like any other. He didn't stop until his legs could no longer be pushed forward, and he stumbled against a lamppost and fell there, panting for air. His body shook from exertion, but the numbness in his chest had begun to lift, if only slightly. The world was still silent, except for the far-off hum of the city itself. For just one moment, the darkness inside him felt manageable.
He gazed up at the sky, tracing the outline of the moon with his eyes. The night was still and quiet, but inside him, the tempest raged on. He knew he couldn't keep running forever; that sooner or later, something had to change. But for now, this was all he had.
He ran until the memories stopped hurting, until pain faded away. And even if they never did, he would run anyway.