The Abandoned
Chapter 1
FANG POV:
My mom left me when I was ten. She took me to the park and "went to go to the bathroom." There was a portable bathroom at the far end of the playground; she disappeared behind the plaything. I never saw her again. I stayed on the swings, alone. Nobody came for me; I just sat there until the sun dipped below the horizon and the world became dark. I was terrified. Eventually, a police officer came along and asked where my mommy was; I had no reply. He drove me to the orphanage/ government agency place (the town was THAT small… we couldn't even have two separate buildings).
They looked through my records; I wasn't born in a hospital. My mother never registered me on a census. No birth certificate, but there was a death certificate. When I was one year old, my mother had filed for my death. Looking back, I could only assume that such a deadbeat mother like her didn't want anyone to come looking for a child to impose taxes on her. I had no father because he was dead too. No one could verify that I was the Nick Fang on the death certificate. Did they even know how old I was? The officer whispered quietly to the woman checking the records. I was on the other side of the door, ear pressed against it. I was crying, as only a young, lost boy should.
The receptionist at the orphanage had taken my hand and half dragged me to the playground outside where all of the other children were playing. I felt so awkward there. I knew nobody, and nobody knew me. I was so shy that I just stood there for about ten minutes before I walked hesitantly over to the sandbox. There was only one other boy there. He had blond hair and electric blue eyes. I sat down in the sand and began to build a sand castle, just like I used to, when mommy was around. The boy scooted closer to me; he asked, "Can I help you?" I nodded. We became friends over the next six years. He was the only person I ever knew at that God-forsaken place, not that I really cared to know anyone.
IGGY POV:
The first day I met Nick, he told me to call him by his last name: Fang. That was a new one. Especially for a kid.
I soon found out that Fang was "the silent one." He never talked about his past, never talked about the present, never talked about the future. You never knew what was happening on the inside, only the outside. His emotions were scribbled plainly on his face; that was his only "fault," per se. Fang became fairly tall, 6"2 to be exact. I beat him though: 6"3. Boo yeah!
He was moody, cranky, and emotionally distant. I was always the one who said, "Let's go and drop water balloons from the roof," and other activities of the type. I mean, if I didn't suggest stuff, who would? Certainly not him. If it was to Fang, we would sit on his bed all day with the shades half open, waiting for nothing. At least I was lively.
But something ruined that.
When I was fifteen, I started to feel very off. I wasn't feeling well; I couldn't get out of bed. The doctor came in and looked over me: he said I needed to go to the hospital. They did scans on my body, and took notes from the other room. I was scared, but I didn't let Fang see that. He had refused help for the loss of his mother, he was damaged; I didn't want to add to the pain he had already been feeling.
They told me I had cancer. I cried for a long, long time. I didn't know how to tell Fang.
I eventually stopped crying and accepted it. They had caught the cancer in the last stage; it had spread everywhere. It was too late to start chemotherapy or radiation. My condition slowly went down hill. And when I say slowly, I mean it felt like overnight. It would be at that juncture in time that I told Fang. I knew I was going to die soon, and I wanted him to be prepared for it too.
He cried when I told him. It was the biggest show of emotion I had ever seen from him. I can only imagine the hopelessness he felt. He couldn't do anything to save me, nor could I for that matter. This was just the cycle of life, I suppose.
FANG POV:
The day of my sixteenth birthday, Iggy passed away in his sleep; the way everyone wants to go. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I just sat on Iggy's bed and looked at him. He looked so calm. The weeks leading up to his passing, he had accepted he was going to die. It made me so sad. I was a borderline basket case.
Iggy and I had made plans to break out of the horrid place from hell known as this orphanage. I really had nothing to take with me, just the clothes on my back the little cash that I had. He had had the same. Everything had been planned out by Iggy, and I wasn't going to let that plan go to waste. Subconsciously, I blamed the orphanage for Iggy's death, and this was my act of vengeance.
Iggy's body was taken away that day to a funeral home across town; that was the last I saw of him until the funeral. It was a small service, made up of myself, a few of the government workers, as well as a social worker. Iggy had been cremated, as he had requested. We spread his ashes on the beach; he had loved the sand so dearly, after all.
There really was no way to get out of the orphanage without getting caught. The only chance you had was when the woman watching the kids on the playground called someone to take her place and she waited out in the hallway. When this happened, I jumped the fence and ran for my life.
END.
Hello again! I decided to redo this story. I corrected a few grammatocal errors and added a few parts in. Let me know what you think!
And a shout out to Freedom Requires A Battle Cry, who, looking back, reviewed so much! Follow her lead!
