Scratch

Ok, will SOMEONE quickly review this?  I need a few before I continue, as I want to see if people enjoy it. Thanks in advance! 


I heard the bell ring for dinner.  Sighing, I got up from the floor, where I was flicking through a comic, and exited my small room.  Life in the orphanage was comfortable, albeit tedious and dreary.  On weekdays and Saturdays, we have to get up at six, with half an hour to shower and dress. Following that, we eat breakfast in the dining room, with recreation for an hour afterwards, before classes until four, with short breaks in between.  Afterwards, there is two hours dedicated to homework and studying, recreation for a further half hour, dinner, then recreation again until bedtime at nine.  On Sunday, we have Mass at nine, then we are allowed out until three, in groups with adults.  No different, the same tedious, boring timetable, the one never changing thing in my life. As if much ever changed, as my life is just as regular as everyone else's here is.  
    I walked down the corridor, which was lined with religious pictures that hung on the walls.  A sign of hope, I guess, a signal to all the children here.  Most had known their parents, although many wished they didn’t.  I wish I knew mine.
    I reached the dining room, and took my seat.  Usually the seat beside me was empty, but now a boy the same age as me sat there.  I sat down, eying him cautiously.  As soon as our food arrived, I tucked in, hungry.
    “Good food, I gotta say.  Not as good as me ma’s was, before she started taking drugs.  Your ma's cooking is always the best.”
    I nodded, biting my lip.  He doesn't realise, I told myself.  I looked at the boy. He seemed friendly, with a wide smile and a Dublin accent.  He had ginger hair and blue eyes, with pale skin and freckles.  “I’m Martin, from Finglas,” he told me.
    “My name is Josh,” I told him
     "So, what's it like here?"
     "Boring.  You have to be desperate to find excitement, because if you want to get it, you need to step out of line."
     "Sure would ya never try?"
     I stared ahead of me.  "No.  Not really."
     Martin left the conversation at that, much to my pleasure, and we finished the meal in silence.  
     I believed, foolishly, that things had returned to normality, until Martin spoke again.
     "So, what did ya do, to find a bit of craic?" he asked.
     "I never did anything.  Really," I added when I saw disbelief crawl across his face, "I only ever considered it, never tried anything."
      That was a lie.  For I certainly had tried, and I soon realised why people didn't often try.  Although, I suppose, I was just unlucky.

********************************************

I had tried not too long ago.  I wanted to discover more about my parents, find out if they were alive, and search for them if they were.
     I first tried to break into the office where all files are kept. I doubted I could find anything, but I supposed it was worth a try.  I dropped to my knees, pulled open the first drawer and began searching for my last name, Stewart.  I shifted through masses of files, before finally finding it.
      After fifteen minutes of vigorous searching through the files, I could only find my name.  Not even a birth date, as if I knew it. It so happened my mother,  seemingly conscientious that my jumper could be whipped off me, had wrote my name on a label.
      Deflated, I stood up and turned around, only to face the one person I certainly did not want to see, leaning against the doorframe.
      Her face narrow, aquiline nose, thin mouth in a puckered smile.  My new teacher had never particularly liked me, and it was only to her delight that she had caught me. I could only presume she was jealous of me, as my previous teacher had said I was an exceptionally talented and intelligent student.
      I ran, slipping through the narrow gap, my heart thudding frantically.  My feet flew as I pelted down the corridor and jumped down the last few steps of each flight.  I swung the door of my bedroom open and pulled it shut behind me, before flopping onto my bed, panting and exhausted.  I knew she'd get revenge, resulting with me in trouble.
      I was right.  The next day, I was a minute late for class by the time I reached the classroom in the basement.  I had been searching for my missing maths book.  A small, dingy room, with a few posters and drawings in walls, it was situated on the lowest floor, and was a full eight flights down from my room.  It was no wonder I was late, but the teacher seemed oblivious to this.  
     "So, Josh, late, are we?" she asked, a hint of joy in her icy voice.  "Anything to do with venturing a few flights higher by accident?"
     *, how I hated this woman.  Anger seered inside me, as I clenched me fist, digging my nails into the palm of my hand.  "No," I replied in a strained tone.
     "Are you sure?" She emphasised the "sure " dramatically.  
     "Yes," I replied, trying to remain calm.
     "Detention then."
     I hissed through gritted teeth, feeling humiliated.  She smiled sweetly at me, annoying me further.  Frustrated, I took to my seat at the front of the class, and rummaged through my bag, pulling out my books and took out a pen.  I bit down sharply on the pen, hearing the crunch of plastic between my teeth as the top snapped.  
      I didn't pay any attention during class.  I was too furious to concentrate, although getting caught staring into space didn't improve my mood much.  I decided that staring at my book would be a better idea.  
     Eventually, when the class finished.  I stuffed my books in my bag, grabbed it and ran out the door.  Best to get my homework done while I can, I thought to myself.   
     Dinner passed wordlessly and I ate my dinner in a comfortable silence.  Afterwards, however, I became apprehensive as I left the table, and rather than heading up to my room, I walked downstairs towards the classroom, a feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach.  
      She was there, sitting at her desk, her forehead crinkled in concentration. She looked up; it took her a moment to recognise me, before she smiled. "Hello," she said politely.
      I was rather taken aback by her pleasant greeting.  I walked over to my desk, eying her precariously all the time.  I pulled out my chair and sat down, waiting to see what I had to do.  
     She placed a bundle of sheets on my desk, before turning and writing the words "I must not be late for class." on the board. 
     "Fill those pages, back and front." She handed me a pen.  "I think you might need this," she laughed.
     I was surprised by how pleasant she was to me.  Eventually I stammered out a thank you.  However, my luck was out and she ignored me.
     I started writing, trying to figure out her unnaturally friendly behaviour towards me.  I figured she must be in a good mood.  She was never this nice to anybody in the class.
     Minutes had passed before she spoke again.  "You were looking for information on your parents, weren't you?"
     I nodded slowly.
     "I remember them. I knew them well."
     I stared at her.  "How?" I asked, curious.
     "Your mother worked in the same school as me."
     "Do you know anything about them?"
     She shook her head. "I had to leave for a while, since I was unwell. By the time I returned, your mother had left.  She never came back."
      "What was her name?" 
      She shook her head, refusing to tell me.  "Just continue with your work."
      It was an hour before I had filled the two sheets. I handed them back wordlessly, and went to exit the room. 
     "You know, they would be proud of you."
     I turned around.  "Thanks," I mumbled, before running for it. 

********************************************

I suddenly shook me head. "It's a story for another time," I decided, wishing Martin would remain quiet so I could continue with my meal in peace. Thankfully, Martin took the hint and we finished our meals in silence. 
     After dessert, I quickly left the dining room, and headed back to me bedroom. There, I rummaged under my bed and pulled out a small ragged jumper. It was the jumper I was in when I was left on the door. By now, I had mesmerised my mother's writing, for I looked at the label every night. Only my name was legible; the writing beneath, presumably my address, was a black smudge. My mother or father probably had tried to rub it off. 
     My mother's writing was slanted towards the right. It was curved rather than pointed, and the J in my name was extravagantly spiralled. 
     After a few minutes of looking at the jumper, I shoved it back under my bed. I had over two hours of spare time left. Excellent time to re-read my entire comic collection, which was a mere nine comics. I rarely had enough money to buy anything with. 
     I found it difficult to go to sleep that night. I turned over continuously in my bed, burying my face in the pillows. My mind was fuzzy, and I couldn't relax.   Eventually, at 2a.m. according to my alarm clock, I dozed into an uneasy and restless sleep. 
     I always had vivid dreams, filled with vibrant colours and loud noises, although they never made sense. However, tonight, my dreams were just flashing lights in dull colours. When I woke up, I found myself exhausted, as if I had never slept at all.