Chapter 8:
The Point
*Surrey Orphanage*
A little boy about six and a half years old, sat on his small, lumpy, gray bed, his legs dangling over the edge. Swinging his legs back and forth, the boy watched the kids running around on the playground two stories below.
The little boy jumped and looked down at his hands. Blood was bubbling out of a cut on his palm, the boy looked surprised and looked at his other had, he was surprised to see a small piece of broken mirror clutched in his fingers.
The boy sighed and before he could stand up to take care of the cut, his ankles were suddenly yanked underneath the bed.
The boy flew forward, putting out his hands to catch himself. His hands hit the wall and left blood, his bloody right hand slipped and he fell forward, the small piece of mirror in his left hand cut into his forehead. The boy jerked back in pain, causing the piece to cut down across his eye and cheek.
He screamed as blood poured out of the gash, he heard three sets of feet running away out of the room. He slid down to the floor, cradling his hand and grasping his face.
Whimpering and rocking back and forth, the boy sat in a pool of his own blood.
Hours later, the screams of the nun that found him, snapped him out of his trance. He looked up at her, blood dripping from his face, looking at her out of one eye.