I'm trapped.

  The words were less than a whisper as they left my lips. Hearing them was one thing, but knowing how true they were was another.

  I faced a window that had been blocked from the inside-out with only two half demolished wooden planks, and a couple rusty nails that clung to the frame.

  Would it be impossible to break the weak barrier? Hardly. I could easily break through the wood, but what would that get me? Other than maybe a broken leg.

  The fall was 20 feet. Even If I jumped and prayed for death, I doubt the devils would allow me that much. If I was to die, they would probably take pleasure in making it long and grueling. I sighed and turned away from the poor excuse of a window.

  I was in a place where me, and seven other boys had no other choice but to call it "Home". It was the only protection we had from the winds that we were given. It was poor though.

  In the summer, we were the first to complain from the unbearable heat that crept through the cracks of the rotted wood. In the snow, we were usually the first to turn ill, and be beaten for our weakness, because of things we couldn't control.

  Most of us boys had known this our whole lives, and thought nothing of it, until we saw the school boys.

  Most of the school boys didn't talk to us, fearing they might catch our poor fortunes, like a disease. But when they did, they were cruel, and jeered at us. They called us, "The boys from hell."

  And I was starting to think that where we were might even be worse.

  "Ash, what are you doing?"

  I turned my head to see my only friend grinning at me with an eyebrow raised. In his hand, he held his usual crutch, and he balanced on it easily.

  Frank had a history unlike any of the boys here, besides being the only boy who was properly educated. His parents lived across the street, and oftentimes they brought him treats or new clothes that he usually ended up giving to me or the other boys. They knew he was here, but they left him here. It made me feel even worse for him, than I felt for myself.

  "Thinkin 'bout what a beef roast might taste like." The lie came easily, but my stomach lurched at the talk of food, and I felt saliva pooling in my mouth. I hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before as punishment for my most recent trouble.

  "I bet you deserved it." Frank said as he threw me a small, round loaf of bread. I stuffed it in my mouth immediately, and realized it was still warm. Stale bread was a blessing, but fresh, homemade bread was a miracle.\

  "The folks came by today. Didn't really talk much. Just gave me this." He held up a little basket that was woven together with straw. I stood from my bunk and eagerly approached him when I saw more goodies inside.

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  He lifted the basket out of my reach and shook his head slowly. "Nah, these are for the others."

  Frank, while probably being the best looking out of most of the boys, was also maybe a bit taller than 6 ft. This gave him a lot of advantage. He was faster, taller, and the school girls would always stop and stare, muttering one thing or another about his golden blonde hair, or his "irresistible" dimples.

  I stared at the basket of bread that he held above my head. I could smell the baked goods from below, and if it weren't for his slight wobble on his crutch, I would have wrestled him for them right then and there.

  I shrugged my shoulders and looked away in defeat, while his grin widened. He lowered the basket and began to hobble/hop away from me towards the creaky wooden stairs.

  "Oh yea, and you better get down here now, or-" His words were cut off from the angry yell of the headmaster, hollering my name.

  "Oops." I muttered. I had forgotten about the dead frog that I had slipped in his morning tea, no less than two hours before.

  Frank threw me another loaf of bread. "You're gonna need that," he said before he hobbled down the rest of the stairs. I saw the smile he tried to suppress before he disappeared into the darkness.

  I was surly in for it this time.

  ***

  I laid on my stomach as Frank, and some of the younger boys hovered over me.

  "F****, Ash, now you've done it."

  I had made the worst possible mistake of my life.

  Three long bloody marks were etched down my back, and any slight movement made blood seep down them. My eyes were squeezed shut, and my teeth grit against each other to silence my screams. Tears soaked the small blanket I laid my face on.

  Getting them hadn't hurt, partly because I had been unconscious, but now my back burned with a new pain, unlike anything I had felt before. It wasn't like being hungry, or a sprained ankle.

  No. It was one-hundred times worse. Every haggard breath felt like claws were reopening the wounds. I had only been through this once before.

  I heard the frightened voices of the Littles as they examined my punishment. One, who couldn't have been older than eight began to wail, and I dreaded how I had just given them a new kind of fear of the headmaster.

  But this was a punishment no one else would receive but me.

  I had been at "Honey's Christian Orphanage for Boys" ever since I can remember. I've spent years being dealt punishments that no other boy was forced to endure, and it was all because the headmaster blamed me for the death of the head mistress.

  Honey was her name. She had started the Orphanage because her sister wanted to give away her disabled son. Honey, was kind and welcomed the boy with loving arms, and decided to theme the Orphanage around Christianity. She wanted to give these lost, unwanted boys a chance to know of God, and live righteously. Then she found me.

  I hadn't been told the full story, only sections. I was told she had found me, just an infant, in an ally way. She had taken me home, begun to care for me, and then passed away. No one knows why or how. But that was all I was ever told.

  We all know the rest. Headmaster Ron took over, and has hated us all ever since. But he held a special part of that hatred just for me.

  While the orphanage was meant to be a house of refuge, it was anything but the sort. We worked, usually 15 hour days, with no pay, but the rags on our backs, and two small excuses for meals a day.

  Sunday was all we had off, and it usually meant we would go down to the church to hear a lesson from the Pope while we scrubbed his floors, and he snuck a handful of shillings into the headmaster's greedy hands.

  It was all the life we'd known. Well most of us.

  Frank pushed something onto my back, and I couldn't suffocate the painful cry that rose from my throat.

  "Stop! Stop please!" I begged him. My whole body shook, and I felt my vision begin to sway. Frank lifted the hot rag that he had attempted to use to clean my wounds. And he shook his head slowly.

  "Ash, I need to clean it." Even Frank, my friend, who was more like a brother, failed to hide the fear, quaking in his voice.

  "Please- Please don't." It took all the effort in the world for me to whisper the words, let alone, speak them loud enough for Frank to hear, and they came out as a muffled wail.

  Against my plea's, I felt the rag come back down on my open flesh, and my world faded into an unknown darkness with the smell of blood still clinging to the air.