Esmeralda: The Orphan

Esmeralda is a young orphan in the kingdom of Discaria. She keeps having stange dreams of a life filled with riches. She can't figure the meaning, but knows that it has to be significant. Join her on a journey in which she discovers who she really is.


1. Chapter 1

     "Esmeralda, get up!" The pots clashed against a wooden spoon which produced an irritating, loud banging noise. I covered my ears with the feather pillow provided. The noise still did not cease. My hands tried harder and harder to block it out, but it didn't matter what I did. Auntie Gwyneth was going to make me wake up. Persistently, she continued.

     "Okay, I give up! You have won once again." The banging was over. I gave out a sigh of relief. Slowly, my feet led the way, for my brain was still one step behind. The other children were already up, and one of them gave me a glare. It was most likely because they had to endure the pots' sound as well.

     An unkempt figure looked back at me. Her hair was in a mess, like an assortment of twigs. I brushed my hair as she did the same. We both looked deeply into each other's eyes. She had a lovely blue iris, which reminded me of the ocean that I saw on a trip not long ago.

     "Quit hogging the mirror!" The same boy that gave me a glare, who I remembered is Craig, shoved me, which caused me to fall. A stream of red liquid poured from my nose. Quickly, I ran to get a cloth. If Auntie Gwyneth saw the mess, she would probably kill me.

     Her footsteps were coming this way! The clickety-clack of her boots echoed in my ears. Closer and closer, it seemed like she would never arrive. The mess was almost cleaned up though. Maybe she would never have to acknowledge that I did anything wrong. Her boots were arrived at its destination.

     "Did you do this?" Her long, crooked finger was pointed straight at me.


     "It's a yes or no question! Did you have anything to do with this blood?"

     "Yes ma'am. I'm very sorry. If I could do anything to make it up for you-"

     "No! What is done is done. Grab a mop and clean it up! And while you're at it, mop the whole orphanage. I've had enough of your foolishness today!"

     Auntie Gwyneth has always been this way. One day, George, a little four year-old boy who was no taller than the kitchen chair, had to do the dishes. There was a pile stacking high of grimy plates, and all of them were filthy. George obviously didn't know how to clean china, nevertheless have the physical capabilities of reaching the top plates. I wanted to help, but I would not put myself at risk of being in trouble. As I dusted, he stood, waiting for assistance.

     After giving it a lot of thought, George fetched a small wooden stool with one leg shorter that the rest. He reached for the top disk, nearly falling. The plate was taken to a bucket of water where he scrubbed off the trash and dunked it.

     This tedious process was continued for nearly an hour when George had about ten plates remaining. He took off the next plate, but when he stepped off of the stool, the shorter leg caused him to topple, breaking the plate and his heart.

     Auntie Gwyneth's boots were coming back.

     "Are you that clumsy?! Do I need to monitor every little thing you do? You're worthless. I haven't seen you do anything productive in this orphanage. No wonder your parents left you!" George was in tears at this point, and Auntie Gwyneth showed no signs of sympathy. She walked off to continue what she was doing.

     She's like a walking devil. Every so often, I check to make sure she has not grown horns or is shooting out fire. Everyone in the orphanage fears her. We avoid her at any cost. She knows that too. I think she likes it. When we do our chores, we do them quietly and quickly. The last person to complain about chores didn't have a very happy ending. Also if we do them slowly, she may crack out her whip. She uses it as "an easy and effective way to motivate us to do our duties." Those little black boots of hers are our warning alarm. Once you hear them, you know to get away.

     The orphans and I have made a code to follow. It's called "The Commands of the Discarian Orphanage." Some of the older kids made it one day while she was going to get bread. It's carved into one of the bunks.


     1. When Auntie Gwyneth tells you to do something, do it.

     2. Never make eye contact with her for a long period of time.

     3. Do not show any sign of emotion around her.

     4. Only speak if you are spoken to first.

     5. Do not tattle on the other orphans. 

     6. Every person is for themselves.

     7. Do not trust anything Auntie Gwyneth says

     8. Do not start conflict with anyone.

     9. Her boots are your signal to be on your best behavior

     10. Follow these rules, or you may be punished

     These rules are really easy to follow, but they are broken all the time. For example, Craig broke number eight this morning. I'm almost positive that the first orphans who created it are already grown up anyways. Plus, the new members haven't even seen the commands. They're pointless, but I still remember.

     I stared longingly at the list. I finished my mopping duty, and had nothing better to do. The other orphans were preparing for bed. I was in a pajama outfit made of rugged, torn cloth. My hair was let down, and I let at a huge yawn just as soon as Mason Phillips walked by. My cheeks turned a light pink shade.

     "Tired?" He asked.

     "A little." I accidentally let out a giggle. The pink had transformed to a ripe tomato.

     Okay, so maybe I just a small crush on Mason. His blond hair makes the perfect contrast to his chocolate brown eyes and his perfect nose. I don't know how he feels about me, but I honestly hope that the feelings are mutual. It's probably not though. I think that he has a crush on Lizzie, some girl that isn't afraid to show off her skin to get attention. One day he will love me though. You just watch.



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