Liphar Magazine issue #4

  The Orphan

  By M. El-Omaha

  The small dark figure jumped off the high brick wall and into the graveyard, stumbling a little as it hit the ground. It dusted itself off and crept along the graves in the dead of night, the wet grass squeaking under its tennis shoes. After running up a few rows of headstones, it stopped and looked around in the dark. It turned right, paused, then walked up a few rows before stopping at the headstone covered in moss and vines. The words on it were hard to decipher but the small figure knew it had found what it was looking for. It sat down and began to mumble, a sob escaping from deep inside its heart every few minutes.

  After a while it stood up and tried to peel back the vines but its little, tender hands weren’t strong enough. As the clouds crept away from the moon, the light fell onto the figure, exposing its true form; a young boy with a frail body and mousy brown hair. He was dressed in striped pajamas and a coat that was a little too big for him. He looked at his red hands, tears still dribbling down his face. He looked around and spotted a small daffodil growing amidst some weeds nearby. He plucked it and placed it on the grave and with a final sob he turned away and began to walk back to the wall he had climbed over.

  He half-heartedly climbed on a headstone, then pulled himself up onto the tree next to him and finally over the wall. He sat on top of it, looking back towards the daffodil until he could bear it no longer. He turned his attention away from the flower and to the street that lay beneath his feet. Squinting up and down, he saw a light on in a distant house but his path wasn’t towards it.

  He jumped down and landed with a thud.

  “Ahh!”he yelled. He landed on his feet without rolling like the older boys at the orphanage had taught him to do when jumping off a high wall. Another cry of pain escaped him and echoed down the street. He bent over and tried to massage the pain out of his legs before anyone arrived. Tears began to stream down his face as he lay on his side rubbing his legs.

  A third cry escaped the child, but he managed to contain it this time. He stopped rubbing his legs and looked around him. There, by the moon’s light was a man running towards him. Afraid of the on-coming stranger, he staggered up and leaned on the wall for support. He might be able to escape again if he tried. He put one foot in front of the other and fell, crying out in pain again.

  He rolled around and saw the man squatting over him, his face inches from the child’s. From it, the boy could see the old man’s face had just begun to wrinkle and his eyes were small, like a parrots, and black. The man extended his hand towards the child but the boy shrank away.

  “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone. Don’t hurt me. Please!” he cried out through his pain.

  “It’s alright, son. I’m here to help. Let me take a look at your foot,” said the man in a rough but kind voice. He was dressed in a striped nightgown and a pair of worn shoes. “It’s ok boy. I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “How much does it hurt?”

  The child looked at the man with parrot eyes and eventually managed to stifle his sobs enough to say, “I can’t walk,” before the tears gushed out again.

  “Come on then. Let’s get you somewhere warmer. What are you doing out at this time of night in the first place? What’s your name child?”

  The boy hesitated but gave in once the man had lifted him into his arms. “Corbin,” he said. Corbin began to cry into the man’s neck as he was carried towards the lit house.

  “Well Corbin, my name is Mr. Yibson. Would you like to tell me what you were doing? How did you hurt yourself?” he asked gently.

  “I… I was just … I was running when I tripped,” he lied. He pressed his face into Yibson’s shoulder to hide his face.

  “Come on, son. If you had tripped, you would have scraped your knee. What were you doing on that wall?” Corbin kept his head pressed against Yibson’s shoulder and remained silent. “Very well child, let’s just get you fixed up.”

  They reached the one-story house, a timid building compared to the neighboring houses which loomed over. It was wooden with the paint peeling off of it and a small, broken porch sitting in a dead garden. Only patches of weeds were to be seen and some useless garden tools. Yibson opened the small brown gate and walked up to the door.

  “Now try to stay quiet son. My wife is sleeping.” He opened the door and walked into the well-lit kitchen. Corbin peeled his head off the man’s shoulder and looked around. A small table occupied most of the space in front of the sink and tiny refrigerator and some dirty dishes sat on the counter. They crossed into the living room where a humble sofa was perched among some wooden furniture - a coffee table, some drawers and a set of shelves that held a single picture frame with a young couple standing in wedding attire.

  Yibson set Corbin down on the sofa and quickly put a pillow under the child’s head.

  “Now let’s take a better look at your leg.”

  Corbin didn’t dare look at his foot for fear it was broken. Who would mend it for him if it was? It’s not like the grown-ups at the orphanage could afford his treatment. He was already going to get into trouble for sneaking out. What if they decided he deserved his punishment? What if they decided it wasn’t enough?

  The sofa he lay on faced a small room where a woman lay on a bed, motionless, staring at him. He was shocked to see her awake but he felt like she wasn’t seeing him. He cringed as Yibson touched his foot and let out a muffled groan. Something about the woman quieted him though. He looked back at the blank eyes in the room nearby and felt petrified.

  “You’ll be alright son. It looks like it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ll be fine to walk around again in the morning.” Yibson looked up and saw Corbin staring over his shoulder. He turned to see his wife slowly trying to move her arm. “Lay back, child, and rest. I’ll be right back.”

  Yibson stood up and walked into the room where his wife lay and closed the door behind him. Silence. The lights from over head shone brightly down on Corbin, keeping his fear of the dark at bay, and along with his fatigue he slowly drifted off to sleep.