As soon as they finished getting ready, the distant toll of the parish bell of Veranis Church echoed through the city of Arendale, waking its people for another day of work and hope. But for Hezorg, that same bell brought nothing but a cruel reminder, dragging him from the hell of his nightmares straight into the real torment of living in that orphanage.
The younger orphans' tasks were distributed by the older boys, following a strict hierarchy. The supervisors didn't waste their time organizing chores, nor did they care who did them, as long as the work got done.
The orphans huddled together in the damp courtyard, waiting anxiously to be called and assigned their daily duties. Finally, it was Hezorg's turn.
— Hezorg, your job is the same as always. Clean the hallways and scrub the bathrooms.
He had expected nothing else. Without showing any emotion, he simply grabbed his supplies and got to work.
Cleaning the stone hallways was exhausting. Sweeping, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying, it all had to be done quickly and flawlessly, as any mistake could lead to punishment. The effort left his arms numb, and the icy water stung his already cracked fingers, worn raw by the cheap, corrosive cleaning products. For an 11-year-old boy, it was an overwhelming task.
By the time he finished, the sun was already high in the sky. The bell tolled once more, noon. Lunchtime.
He picked up his bowl of watery porridge and a piece of bread as hard as stone, a "feast" barely enough to ease his growing hunger. He walked to a secluded corner of the cafeteria and sat down, trying, once again, to make himself as invisible as possible.
"I just hope this time I can at least eat my lunch in peace…"
— Well, well… If it isn't my good friend, Hezorg!
He let out a long sigh. "Great. There goes my meal."
— Hey, Flint. Do you need something? — he asked, not even bothering to lift his eyes.
Flint, wearing his usual grin, ignored Hezorg's indifference and sat beside him, throwing one arm over his shoulders as if they were lifelong friends.
— You look a little down, kid. Something wrong?
— No. What exciting things could possibly happen when you spend your day with a mop and a bucket? — Hezorg replied sarcastically.
Flint laughed loudly, turning to his two companions, who followed him everywhere like shadows.
— HAHAHAHA! See? I told you guys! Our friend here has a great sense of humor!
Then, without a second thought, Flint grabbed the bread Hezorg had barely touched and began chewing it slowly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
— So, got any information for me? — he asked, mouth still full of crumbs. — You know that if you wanna get ahead in this place, if you wanna earn any privileges, you gotta show some goodwill first.
Hezorg knew exactly how the orphanage worked. Everything there followed an unspoken rule: "If you wanna laugh, you better make others laugh first."
A perfect example was Pietro, the boy in charge of distributing chores. His own roommate had trusted him like a brother, sharing years of suffering by his side, yet Pietro hadn't hesitated to betray him, snitching without a second thought. As a reward for his "loyalty," he had won the favor of the head supervisor, becoming practically untouchable. Now, he strutted through the orphanage like a king among the wretched, protected by the very people who were supposed to keep order.
Watching this cycle repeat over and over again had drained any hope Hezorg had of finding peace in this place. There were no friends here, only survivors. Even the strongest bonds were eroded by the need to please the higher-ups and secure tiny, fleeting advantages.
— I wish I had something useful for you, but I haven't seen or heard anything worth sharing. — Hezorg said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Flint pulled a face, licking his fingers as he finished the bread as if it were a rare delicacy.
— Don't worry, Hezorg. I know you really wanna help me… And I also know you wouldn't just make something up, right? — He laughed, his voice dripping with false warmth. — But keep this in mind: I can make life a lot easier for you… and that nasty job of scrubbing toilets? Yeah, it's not exactly good for your health.
Standing up, he gave Hezorg two pats on the shoulder, like they had just sealed some unspoken deal, then turned to leave.
— Oh, and thanks for the bread. It was delicious.
Hezorg sat still, watching Flint walk away and disappear among the cafeteria tables, his lackeys trailing behind him. On the outside, he remained expressionless. But under the table, his fists clenched so tightly that his hands trembled.
"Bastard… and those damn supervisors just pretend not to see anything."
As if the physical exhaustion weren't enough, the lack of hope slowly drained Hezorg of any mental strength he had left. The crushing routine of the orphanage offered no reprieve, turning each day into a torturous repetition of the last.
After forcing down the watery porridge, he returned to his afternoon task—somehow even more grueling than the first, cleaning the public bathrooms.
If scrubbing the hallways was exhausting, cleaning the bathrooms was nothing short of torture. The filthy stalls, used by dozens of orphans who had never learned the basics of dignity or decency, were a reflection of the orphanage's cruelty. The nauseating stench of urine, feces, and mildew clung to the walls, making his stomach churn. No matter how many buckets of dirty water he poured over the floor, the filth seemed ingrained in the very foundation of the place.
The hours dragged on painfully, each scrub a reminder of his place in the orphanage's brutal hierarchy. Finally, when the bell struck six in the evening, the time for turning in their work, Hezorg dropped the worn-out brush and stepped out of the bathroom, the stench clinging to his skin and clothes.
— Stay away, you useless pig. — One of the older orphans wrinkled his nose, stepping back in disgust.
Hezorg ignored him. The funniest thing was that even here, at the very bottom of society, some still sought to feel superior. If they couldn't be respected, then at least they could make sure someone else was despised.
Pietro, the task manager, approached with a group of boys to inspect the work before reporting to the supervisor. He stepped inside the bathroom, took a brief glance around, then scoffed before signaling to his group. The report was handed in, and one by one, the orphans were dismissed to the cafeteria.
Just as Hezorg was preparing to leave, the supervisor called him over.
— Hezorg, right? — The man's voice carried a false politeness, a fake kindness Hezorg already knew better than to trust. — Your bathroom cleaning was far below expectations. I was told you spent your lunch break chatting with your little friends instead of doing your job.
Rage boiled inside him at the unfairness, but he kept his head down, his fists tightening subtly.
— I'd like to remind you that you are well taken care of here. You have everything a child in your situation could possibly dream of. — The man paused, expecting a response that never came. — So, I'll have to punish you to make sure you learn to take your duties seriously and perform them with absolute perfection.
The supervisor's smile made Hezorg's stomach turn.
— I think five lashes should do the trick.