The Lost Girl
The original characters belong to the writers of Peter Pan.
Author's Note: This story was inspired by the song Lost Boy by Ruth B.
Chapter One
"You are leaving, soon." These are words I am now used to. There is no "I am sorry to see you go" or "yes, there is plenty enough room for you to stay". It was always the same words every few months. My life consisted of moving to a different place that always had the same heartless hosts and ruthless kids, all who would never call me by my long-forgotten name. Instead, a number or an insulting nickname was how I was differentiated from others. It's funny, you might think, hundreds of children and caretakers, all who are dealing with the system, some their whole life, would be understanding and caring of each other, but no, of course not, that would be silly.
I looked down the road me and the old housekeeper stood at, waiting for a cab to take me away to another house. Rain clouds assembled, threatening a downpour. The street itself mimicked my mood, glum and depressed. It was obvious we were in the poor part of this city. Trash was piled high at the curb, torn apart from wild animals and the houseless people who live in a caved apartment across the street.
I turned around to face the I have lived in for three months. It is by no means special, almost looks like the apartment next door, but it did have better people than some of the other house I have lived in. The other children mostly kept to themselves, besides for one or two pests that picked at the younger children. The ancient woman who served as housekeeper was almost blind and at a dangerous weight, so it was almost too easy to pick up valuable items, like fabric to sew up a worn spot on shirts or, in rare cases, a can of food, from her cluttered room now and then.
I saw the cab down the road from the corner of my eye, but I didn't turn around. Instead, my eyes were on something hanging from the housekeeper's coat pocket. I turned towards the road so I could get a better look, and dangling out of her pocket was an old, but valuable, diamond necklace. I normally don't steal items with money value, only the necessities, but I remembered the way the woman would give harsh punishments for the pettiest of wrong doings, leaving dinner earlier was twenty licks alone. Besides, she most likely stole it herself, for that is the way she was.
I slyly slipped my hand over, just like the way I have done dozens of times, trying to reach the necklace before the cab pulled in. I had a finger around it, but the cab honked and the woman caught me with my hand in her pocket.
She grabbed my earlobe with one hand and slapping me with her other before I knew what to do. She pulled so hard, tears were running down my cheeks. I instantly released the necklace, clawing at my ear. I have never got caught before, I was usually much more careful.
"You are leaving now, " The woman screeched. With a stomach like a flabby rhinoceros, she was barely able to thrust me into the cab. She threw my box and folder of paperwork at me, and shoved a wad of bills to the cabbie, not only telling him a street name, but also that I was a thief.
After three months of staying in her rickety house, I did not remember the gray haired woman's name who has made my whole head throb, or any of the other 25 orphans for that matter, but I am sure she would not like the name for her I was thinking right now.
With nothing more than a small box of ratty clothes, my paperwork, and my lucky stuffed fox, the driver took off without having said a word of the scene he witnessed. I was gone, like an unwanted dog at the shelter, shuffled off to another foster home for the fourth time this year.
The smelly cab driver didn't say a word, but he did keep looking in his dirty mirror, probably looking to see if I was going to steal a newspaper. I arranged my belongings in order: checking to make sure my paperwork was correct, packing the clothes that had fallen out, and inspecting that my fox survived.
After about ten minutes calming my thoughts, I sat in the back of the cab, brushing my hair with my fingers, watching the people go by outside the window. The cab stopped at a red light as I focused on a group of people walking out of a store, ducking for cover from the rain. They had bronze skin and dark hair, which was so different from my fiery red hair and pale skin. Even my lean, skinny frame, which was mostly from not having enough food, stuck out from the fit people I watched. Then the car gained speed as the light changed, and the people disappeared forever.
My hair had an outgoing personality, myself on the other hand, I never dared to speak. I knew children in the orphanages, not to mention myself, who lived in fear of saying one word too many. So one day, I just stopped talking altogether. I never spoke again, unless I was forced to. Unfortunately, today was one of those times.
After another fifteen minutes of daydreaming and people-watching, the car pulled into the driveway of my new home. The man only grumbled unintelligent words, which I translated to, "Get out." My stomach twisted with nerves of this unknown territory. I gathered my few belongings and made my way out into the, now heavy rain. As soon as I stepped out of the rusty car, the paranoid driver sped off, leaving me alone once again.
The first day was always the hardest for me, and my hands were already shaking. To calm my nerves, I slowed my breathing and took in the eerie house, not minding the rain seeking its way to my skin. The house was obviously as old as dirt, but it might have looked decent once upon a time, for the faded blue paint on the edges. However, now it was now gray and falling apart. It was one of those houses kids dared each other to ring the doorbell on Halloween. It was surrounded by other tiny houses in the neighborhood but all of them were in much better repair: The shingles were not completely falling off, the yards were not wild and out of control, and it appeared the lights worked. Everything was near the same city as the house I was kicked out of, definitely in the same state since there was not too much paperwork for my transferring.
Suddenly, the door swung open, making me jump.
A skeleton of an woman came out the door. She was younger than the other matron, but not by much. She had the most unpleasant look on her face; her nose was upturned and she appeared to permanently wear a disapproving scowl. The woman's dull dark hair was pulled so tight in a bun, it was as if she did so to hide her wrinkles. Her gray garb hung loose around her bony frame. I naturally assumed her physical punishments couldn't be so bad, for a woman so weak, could not hit very hard, but then I saw she had a rope of sorts in her hand. No, not a rope, it was a whipping rope, one that I have only seen ever so often. They give the worst beatings in the world, aching for days and leaving scars on backs. I shivered at the thought, making a silent promise to stay away.
The housekeeper shrieked at me with a voice that could only be described as a crow devouring its prey, "Are you just going to stand out in the rain or are you going to come in, you idiotic dolt?!" I had the feeling this stay is going to be much worse than the last.