The younger boys all scurried to attention, satisfying Abe’s ‘Army’ illusions. I carefully tucked my personal treasure back into my pocket, and rose from my thin, fraying mattress.
Abe strolled down between the rows of equally outdated beds, gazing upon the troops. We were a motley bunch if you ever saw one. Everyone stood around in our dirty, hole-ridden hand-me-down rags donated by mining town children we often heard stories about from out west. I’d long since grown out of the clothes my grandmother had handmade for me almost a decade ago. Those shirts and slacks had supposedly been stuffed in a closet, waiting to be brought out once one of the younger boys grew into them. ‘Waste not, want not,’ the orphanage staff would always tell us. But since there had been plenty of younger kids come through the orphanage and I’d never seen my clothes reappear, I figured they’d sold them and pocketed the money.
People tell me I shouldn’t be so pessimistic.
Not to worry, I do plan on coming back to post another snippet from this one next week. But why wait? Pick up a copy of Escape using the links above!