The Heatherland: (Contest Version)

Peter stared at the wall, wondering—who he even was.

He was a young person, thirteen years old, in an orphanage, wondering who his parents were.

He was told by the "principal" that he was found in the middle of an alleyway, where his parents left him, leaving him all alone.

Alone.

The word that screamed, whispered, hissed into his ears, driving tears out of his eyes.

That one word, the one that made him question himself, and why he was even here, in this horrid place.

Alone.

The word that banged into his head, and made his stomach disgustingly grumble and turn.

All alone.

His room was a dark reddish shade of brown, with one window on the wall covered by red-polka dotted curtains.

He had a small dresser by the side of his bed, where an old, dusty watch was left.

He gazed at it thoughtfully, being that was the only thing that he remembered of his past.

He started to think wonderingly, about all that's happened the past thirteen years of his life.

He was bullied among many, especially people who were almost eighteen, even girls.

He had a crush on this one girl, Gwen. She was beautiful, with blush, brown hair and light, pale skin that made him feel light and filled with joy, like a cloud.

But, all his effort was in vain.

His life was only a never ending painful cycle, everyday, every week, every month—

Every year.

Just one cycle, one utterly painful and boring cycle.

He looked at the time his watch read. It was just about to be breakfast, so he had to swiftly run to the Hall of Bells in honor of Gissar Bell, the founder of this "orphanage."

He got up from his bed, quickly putting on his jacket, still half asleep.

Heading out the door, he came across a hall of students, grabbing their uniform jackets.

He pushed through amongst the crowd, disgusted and weirded out by all the smells of their jackets.

Clearly, they never washed them.

Then, came a divergence of the hall, where it became two, right or left, in which they dispersed. He chose the right way this time, heading the slower path to the halls. He could feel the rough texture of the stairs, metal like the room, with light shining from a singular window.

There weren't many windows in the room, which made the light surprisingly mesmerizing since it all came from just one window.

He was fixated on the window sill when he suddenly bumped into the door that led to his destination on the first floor. He opened the rectangular door, leading a stampeding group of students past him.

He stared high above him, looking at the bell that was vigorously thrashing his eardrums.

The Hall of Bell.

The others in the "orphanage" came together, including Gwen among them, who looked around curiously.

Looking at her charming physique, Peter accidentally let out a small smile.

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him, a very smirky one, that seemed to come from a fifteen year old boy.

It was Micah.

He looked back, observing the dark brown-haired boy, who had small freckles along his nose and a buttoned uniform jacket.

"Who are you smiling at?" he asked, tapping him in the back.

Micah was the only friend he had—his best friend—being he was in a similar situation as Peter.

"No one," he quickly responded, blushing from embarrassment.

Micah smiled at him, scooting next to Peter, standing by his side.

"It's okay to smile in this place, it's not like it's a prison."

"I mean, I never said that."

"Well, why are you hiding it then?"

Peter stammered silently, resisting the urge to explain himself.

"It's Gwen, isn't it?" Micah suddenly figured, forming a small smirk.

Peter looked down, surprised and embarrassed at such a quick realization.

"Yeah, she's very—" Peter sighed, "—nevermind."

"It's okay to like someone, I mean that's how we're even here," Micah reasoned.

Micah figured that Peter most probably misunderstood him.

"Well, not here but on this Earth," Micah corrected.

"It's fine," Peter shrugged, as he was adjusting his hair.

Their conversation was interrupted by the shriek of the bell, as a man and a woman—that seemed to be only skin and bones—began walking towards them. Mrs. Jist, the rudest "principal" in the orphanage, the one that makes kids feel bad about their lives, and seemed to like very loud high-heel shoes that sprung up her height.

Peter assumed she would be fired, being that this an orphanage. Maybe her strictness was used to somehow give a certain spark of destiny and discipline in their soul.

But the only thing that was sparking was regret, especially to Peter.

"Hello, students!" she bellowed in her raspy, elegant voice.

She continued. "I hope you've finally understood your place as a child, and not whine for the food you are given."

"Not whining?" Micah quickly complained, "You give us worse than what rats eat."

"You are children, and you follow what your elders say, understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jist."

"Now, follow me."

Now the certain trudd sounded more dreadful than before.

As they were marching, Micah started babbling about the orphanage.

"How can you even live in this complete wasteland?"

"Wasteland?" Peter asked, confused about the certain metaphor.

"Yes, wasteland," Micah rasped, looking forward to avoiding any suspicion. Peter, worried about the tongue-wrabble of his words, acknowledged, "You know that you can't criticize this place, before you get in trouble."

Micah looked back at him.

"See what I mean?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"They don't allow freedom of speech, when the Constitution says it as the First Amendment!" he shouted.

He looked back forward.

"Why do you think they told Ms. James to teach us History?"

Peter could remember the big circle glasses and the precise lips, and when she would lay her hand out to give us candy.

"She is the only nice person in this place, which Mrs. Jist isn't fond of."

"Makes sense," Peter said.

Micah nodded, looking back at him, then staring forward again, saying nothing until their arrival.