{Adoption Papers}
@cosmicxcauldron Dimi w/miles
Who cares about them. He didnt need them anyways.
It started out bad with breakfast being oatmeal, went on to having to do chores and have to clean up all the toysl, having to do homework, lunch was ok it was just sandwhiches though, none of the kids would play at recess but when did they ever, and then during free time he couldnât even color cuz no one would share! Kids werenât nice to him so at this point he didnât care what happened.Â
No one wanted to share so heâd just go play outside in the sandbox. The teachers usually wouldnât let kids go outside on their own not when they were this young but dimi was a âspecialâ exception. The teachers simply didnât care if he went missing. A fact he made use of.Â
Why did his class and teachers hate him so? Because he was broken. Or thatâs what heâd come to understand. Dimi was the only one who could hear thoughts as if they were spoken out loud and when he let people know, they began to hate him.Â
It was because of all this that led him to be outside by himself while everyone was inside during story time. The sandbox was more fun anyhow, plus sometimes the neighbors cat would come play. Sometimes it would go off and see its owner but he never actually saw who it was but the cat usually would come around this time and would sit with him while he made sand castles. They werenât usually very good cuz he didnât get to have a shovel or bucket but he had sticks and leaves and rocks he could decorate and make it pretty with. The cat didnât come today though, and he didnât get to decorate his castle.. No he barely got to do anything when he heard everything so very loud.Â
Voices swam in his head all at once and it hurt, he couldnât make sense of all of it until it was all silenced with a gunshot. His body shook as he looked back towards the back door hearing muffled cries and yelling from someone. They were in trouble... but he wasnât. Because he was broken he was outside.. he was the only one safe right now..Â
He didnt have to care.. but maybe.. this was how heroâs were born, he thought. And so he crept back into the building, avoiding the hall and making any noise. He could hear the crying and yelling more. the worried voice of the orphanage teacher protecting the kids behind her. He had to block it out and listen for the shooter.. had to make sure he wasnt seeing him. It was.. a dizzy of thoughts.. something he couldnt fully understand but as long as they all stayed in the classroom, then he could go to the phone in the hall and call the police. It was one of those old home phones, the kind that had the cord and was mounted to the wall.
His tiny hands reached up carefully taking the phone off the receiver, trying not to make a noise as he punched in some numbers. They all knew this number, kids were told to call police if they were in trouble and needed help. So he punched in the code and huddled with the phone, pulling the long cord around to the next room to hide out of sight, so long as the shooter never came into the hall or looked at the phone to closely then heâd be safe there.
â...hello? is this the police? Theres a bad man with a gun--â he spoke softly into the phone.
