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Finally face to face, the orphanage director was having a hard time swallowing that such a little girl was the mastermind of the past /months/ of mayhem. Little walking cigar had been busy, that much he could tell. The rumors she planted like seeds grew into many fruits, seeds like gold being hidden in the tires of cars, the caretakers selling kids to butcher shops when they got too old, that X said that X stuck X in its ass, that once The Ghost ate you nobody would ever remember it happening. She wasn’t caught for that, though. Being a bit more direct, Helen had, by wearing the now missing mask from the ‘art room’, gotten other orphans to steal for her under the promise that she would teach them how to fly (which she managed to emulate by wearing dark clothes and talking from the dark). Unable to talk herself, the little girl had promised a boy that she'd marry him if he lent her his voice- who still believes it. For a while, nobody could even dream it was her. Untils Helen started spending all of that money on getting kids to break windows and set carpets on fire.
But that was part of the plan, of course. If she had to stay, what good would it be to make that dumpster even more hellish? And even after the spankings, she would get caught again and again, and each time the orphanage looked a little worse for wear- even from the outside. All part of the plan.
And every time she would ask them. She wanted to see mom and dad. Blind faith only lasts so many lies and she had no room for more. Helen had then, accidentally, managed to make the institution work as intended: she got herself signed up for adoption.
From across the table, the orphanage director squints at the trouble-maker. Proud of her red hair, she would bathe it in brilliantine every day and tell everyone that a dragon lives there, which she truly believed. Given she used red and gold, it looked like fire.
Director: So; little Ms. Helen.
Who stands up quietly. The man’s eyes widen and he even reels back when the girl closes in on him, but he doesn’t stop her.
Helen: Helena. I can’t talk.
Director: Here it says ‘Helen’. Don’t correct me.
Helen steps back with no answer. He seems nervous. She may only be eight and her voice may seem frail and trailing, but those eight years were packed. Thankfully enough, the old man is perfectly aware. He takes off his glasses.
Director: At this point I’m sure that treating you like a kid is a mistake. Today, you’ve earned to be addressed as an adult.
Still no answer. The man leans forward.
Director: You should be thankful.
She does so too.
Helen: Thank you.
Taken aback by her earnest yet firm answer, with such a timid, gentle voice, the man can’t help delving.
(cont!)
