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I know every word in the books which line the walls in my room. Everyone else in this place wonders why I wear my torn up trousers for the fifth year in a row – my ankles are showing, too – and instead of asking for new ones, I ask for a book every time the matron manages to spare some money for us orphans. It’s because they’re stupid and don’t understand the true value of the printed word. No matter, they will come to regret those choices one day. They seem to think that the orphanage will always be there to provide what little there is for them. I know what the world out there is like. Homeless men die on the streets every night. Homeless women whore themselves out to anybody willing. That’s just how it is, but I have no intention of following this cursed pattern. I might have nothing to truly call my own – except for my body and mind, but that is enough.
It will be enough for me to show them all my superiority. I will climb this rotting, broken ladder of society and find a better place for myself.
I have a sharp mind, an agile body and good looks – that is plenty of proof. I belong above this pile of maggots who eat each other for a few scraps of material. It’s all here; in my head.
Long hallways and many, many doors hold my knowledge. There is still plenty of space; I know my mind has no limits. There are colourful books here and a warm fire which comforts me whenever I’m exhausted after using my powers to keep those fools in line. There is also a small picture frame on the impressive mantelpiece in which I can see a moving, ever changing image as crisp and bring as the real world. It shows a boy around my own age, with bright green eyes full of sorrow and a mop of unruly black hair. His forehead bears the strangest scar I have ever seen, in the shape of a lightning bolt. It strangely warms me to see it etched onto his pale skin so clearly.
He’s thinner than even me and his clothes are almost as bad. He’s made to do chores after his family has gone to sleep and isn’t given food for weeks at a time.
His world looks so much different than mine. There are many strange machines which I have not seen before there and sometimes I wonder if what I can see the future. I don’t let it bother me though. I will find my answer sooner or later, as I always do.
For now, I will settle for watching the green-eyed boy as he curls up to sleep on the broken bed in the cupboard under the stairs. He’s so peaceful when he dreams – a small smile appears on his lips as he whispers something I cannot hear. Wishfully, I imagine his lips forming my name silently.
Maybe I could meet him one day and make him say it and claim him as mine.
Such an imbecilic thought. With that, I leave the luxurious chambers of my mind and settle back into bed, with a fantasy book about time travel and magic tightly gripped in my hand.
Later that night, I dream of him again.