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The government pays the orphanages a sum for each kid they care for under their wing. Adoptions are rare; this isn’t a coincidence. By stockpiling on orphans and making the paperwork as hard as they can, owners of such asylums found they could fund ventures of their own. Among those orphans, Helen- who had lost her ability to speak.
And with so many orphans to care for it was only natural for the attention of the caretakers to become scattered. There were only so many of them, and they weren’t getting paid much. A very little Helen found herself torn off from her world so suddenly, like a rose plucked from the side of the road, only to wake up every day in a context that years later would remind her of school. Bullying was the norm. You either bullied or got bullied. If you didn’t get someone else to wash your dishes then you were going to do it for someone else. And no; there was no in-between. The few caretakers that kept their jobs had made it very clear that strength ruled.
Desperate to ask about her parents, still unable to write some words, Helen would just stand there and try to force words out of her mouth only to sound like a seal being sucked into a tornado and for people to laugh at her until she cried. And when her throat hurt, she would cry alone too.
In such a story, what do you do if you are frail? Like Helen? A rose, pretty but weak, small with smaller thorns, silent as the wheel comes. Those with no weapons can only lie or bluff, and you can’t do either without a pen or a voice.
One day, though, when she was taking out the trash for the third time, when she had already given up on talking, she spat some words. A completely clean chocolate bar had fallen from the bag and in her surprise she said: ‘dick season’. Every day, she continued to train hard. If only we knew the things we take for granted. Helen never managed to talk; but to whisper.
Yet every day she would ask about mom and dad, and every day she would get the same vague answer- at first, with a smile.
Helen: I want to see mom and dad.
She had to hug every single person she wanted to talk with; her voice was /that/ low. At some point, even the bullies stopped caring.
Big boy with a huge fucking scar: They don’t want you to see mom and dad. The theys pay them monkey to have you here.
Helen: Me?
Big boy with a huge fucking scar: Monkeys for you and every kid. They even pay them for Nacho.
Nacho being the kid with Downs Syndrome that had to get a motorcycle helmet glued to his head to keep him from cracking his own skull open because he wanted to be like a goat he once saw on Youtube. Helen wanted out- and she realized she now had the means to get out. The skill she learned over months of abuse. The one that wasn’t whispering.
It was simple. If they wanted to keep her here for money, then she just had to cost them more than they paid them.
Way more.
(cont!)
