Fall of 514AV, 50th
Summer still didn’t know what possessed her to seeking out the job here. Rather, that is what she told herself so she wouldn’t have to admit that she felt a sort of kinship with the children. Unwanted and abandoned with purpose or by circumstance. There was a echo of loneliness in their eyes that she understood. Even during adoptions she could see, the people that wished to make them family pitied them. They were seen as different. As strange. They were accepted because the people would feel bad for rejecting them.
Except the owner of the orphanage. In her short (almost half a season) time working there Summer couldn’t understand why someone with so much hate for the children could work there. Summer personally didn’t care much one way or the other for children. She’d had little to no friends as a child and no one let her kind around children as she got older. Often, Summer would find skinny little skeletons hiding in her cupboards. Some stayed to watch her cook. Others fled at the sight of her.
The half-Zith ignored it either way. She would continue with her work for Mrs. Holt was just as strict about when meal times were with Summer as she was with the kids. Yet, Summer never minded the rules, she had free use of the kitchen when she wasn’t cooking or cleaning it.
This day was no different. Summer was at the counter (painted red with rust) with a cutting board (that was really just an old slab of wall sanded down) and vegetables that were going bad. The knife Summer was using shook in her hand. She held it by the handle and pushed hard on the blunt back of the knife. It was a dull and useless thing. Summers palms were always red by the end of using it. Sometimes she thought the sharp end was duller than the back but it managed to tear through the vegetables.
She was cutting broccoli, pressing down to cut off the very ends of the bushy thing. As she cut she threw the good parts into a pot filled halfway with water. Summer wouldn’t use much of it, she didn’t like them and they weren’t filling but Holt insisted. Summer made to throw the scraps away and dug through the cupboards for potatoes. They had roots growing out of them, black spots too, Summer rolled her eyes and sighed. She made her way over to the wash basic and began to scrub them free of dirt. She used her nails (bitten as they were) to dig out what she could. It was slow and the water was grime filled brown when she finished the first. It didn’t stop her from dunking the second. This time she used the knife like an extra nail, digging into the dense skin of the potato.
It wasn’t until she turned to throw the whole potatoes in the water that she noticed one of the children. The child was shifting from one foot to the other, clearly he needed to pee or was waiting for something. Summer dropped the potatoes into the water. “What do you want?” She questioned briskly.
“Mrs. Holt is took an older girl to her room.”
Summer turned to face the child. “That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes! Mrs. Holt is busy.” He was looking everywhere but at her. Summer felt her lips tug in bitter amusement. He was just as afraid of her as he was of Holt. She dried her hands then stepped closer. He stepped back.
“Yes. And?”
“Someone is at the door.”
The half-Zith flung up her hands with a snap, “You should’ve just said.”
To herself she wondered if she should even answer it. If she didn’t Holt would pitch a fit, if she did…she’d probably still pitch a fit. Summer grumbled to herself, hunching while she stomped to the door and flung it open.
“Ornery Orphange, what do you want?” It sounded rude perhaps but Summer spoke evenly, even curiously as she inspected the woman. A burning in her gut called out jealously at the freckles, clear skin and obviously female figure. Summer snapped her gaze up to the woman’s pale eyes. “Mrs. Holt is busy, you can wait with the kids. Follow me.”
Summer stepped back so the woman could step in.
Except the owner of the orphanage. In her short (almost half a season) time working there Summer couldn’t understand why someone with so much hate for the children could work there. Summer personally didn’t care much one way or the other for children. She’d had little to no friends as a child and no one let her kind around children as she got older. Often, Summer would find skinny little skeletons hiding in her cupboards. Some stayed to watch her cook. Others fled at the sight of her.
The half-Zith ignored it either way. She would continue with her work for Mrs. Holt was just as strict about when meal times were with Summer as she was with the kids. Yet, Summer never minded the rules, she had free use of the kitchen when she wasn’t cooking or cleaning it.
This day was no different. Summer was at the counter (painted red with rust) with a cutting board (that was really just an old slab of wall sanded down) and vegetables that were going bad. The knife Summer was using shook in her hand. She held it by the handle and pushed hard on the blunt back of the knife. It was a dull and useless thing. Summers palms were always red by the end of using it. Sometimes she thought the sharp end was duller than the back but it managed to tear through the vegetables.
She was cutting broccoli, pressing down to cut off the very ends of the bushy thing. As she cut she threw the good parts into a pot filled halfway with water. Summer wouldn’t use much of it, she didn’t like them and they weren’t filling but Holt insisted. Summer made to throw the scraps away and dug through the cupboards for potatoes. They had roots growing out of them, black spots too, Summer rolled her eyes and sighed. She made her way over to the wash basic and began to scrub them free of dirt. She used her nails (bitten as they were) to dig out what she could. It was slow and the water was grime filled brown when she finished the first. It didn’t stop her from dunking the second. This time she used the knife like an extra nail, digging into the dense skin of the potato.
It wasn’t until she turned to throw the whole potatoes in the water that she noticed one of the children. The child was shifting from one foot to the other, clearly he needed to pee or was waiting for something. Summer dropped the potatoes into the water. “What do you want?” She questioned briskly.
“Mrs. Holt is took an older girl to her room.”
Summer turned to face the child. “That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes! Mrs. Holt is busy.” He was looking everywhere but at her. Summer felt her lips tug in bitter amusement. He was just as afraid of her as he was of Holt. She dried her hands then stepped closer. He stepped back.
“Yes. And?”
“Someone is at the door.”
The half-Zith flung up her hands with a snap, “You should’ve just said.”
To herself she wondered if she should even answer it. If she didn’t Holt would pitch a fit, if she did…she’d probably still pitch a fit. Summer grumbled to herself, hunching while she stomped to the door and flung it open.
“Ornery Orphange, what do you want?” It sounded rude perhaps but Summer spoke evenly, even curiously as she inspected the woman. A burning in her gut called out jealously at the freckles, clear skin and obviously female figure. Summer snapped her gaze up to the woman’s pale eyes. “Mrs. Holt is busy, you can wait with the kids. Follow me.”
Summer stepped back so the woman could step in.
