Orphanage Books Novels & Stories

"It's ordinary." "That's the same thing." --- The seventh book was different. Not a memoir — a children's book. About a garden, about a fig tree, about the dogs buried under its branches and the women who loved them. Beatriz's successor, Eva, was hesitant at first. "A children's book?" she said. "A book for everyone." --- I wrote about Orwell, the scruffy survivor. Pippin, the disaster with mismatched ears. Fig, the puppy who arrived in a crate. Oak, the quiet one, the watcher. And the women who buried them, who marked the stones, who never forgot.

It was part of me. The spoon was in Mara's hand. Eli's hands were loose at his sides. The mobile turned with both sides level. I went back to bed. The room was warm and dark and Nate was on my left and Levi was on my right and I lay between them and listened to them breathe. Even and steady. Present. The table in the kitchen seated twelve. The orphanage had fifty-three children and Abena had said read it again. Saoirse had seen the eastern hills in the morning light and her mother had been right about them.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say I would be yours.” I squeaked because I hadn't. All I had done was agree to spend some time with him. A few days, he said. I had never once agreed that I would be his any longer than that. Now in the books I devoured, the women in these situations were always offered money. It was something I had never really understood, but it was hot anyway. On paper. If The Judge had offered me money to spend a week with him, I would have found some way of hurting him.

“If Lady Rina really had some connection with Alpha Dominic, then it might be recorded here. There weren't any more books about her in the orphanage.” Ingrid nodded but frowned. "I still think that situation is odd. I mean, why would anyone take away all the books about her from the orphanage when she's the one that founded it?” Ingrid murmured thoughtfully as I started searching through the volumes, pulling out book after book.

I returned to the orphanage where I grew up. After the head of the orphanage, Mrs. Page passed away, the place was closed due to a lack of funding. The once lively little building had long lost its warmth. Moss crept up the walls, and the iron gate was rusted over. I stood outside the gate. My eyes stung slightly with emotion. When I was very young, I was abandoned at the orphanage gate. It was Mrs. Page who picked me up and raised me. She had been the only warmth in my life, but she passed away from illness when I was in college.

The bookshelf was just as tall as Andrew so he could easily access the books there. The bookshelf had all sorts of books, ranging from fictional novels to nonfictional novels, to educational novels and textbooks. Her eyes caught titles like; The Redwall series by Brian Jacques, Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros and a lot more. Even the Encyclopedia was in his bookshelf. And there was also some novels on the basis of business and finance. The book the lad was currently reading was The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie.

"I'll accompany you." The girls took the kids to the orphanage. They gave them warm clothes and took care of them. Soon the kids befriended the kids of the orphanage. They learnt that those kids were twins but orphans. Their parents left them after they got divorced and neither of their families took the responsibility to look after the kids. The girl being the older sibling, she used to take care of her brother even though they had to live on the streets. The kids seemed so cute and innocent that Garaine couldn't help but give them shelter and a warm family.

Until it all disappeared. One morning, the whispers started. The funding for their orphanage was pulled. The private donors withdrew without warning. Within weeks, the place he called home was shuttered. Children were split up, sent off to unfamiliar homes, cold institutions with less oversight and even less compassion. Elias found himself in a hellhole disguised as a sanctuary. The beatings started early. First from the older boys, then the staff who turned a blind eye—or worse. No books. No computers. No more teachers praising his mind. Just survival.

he informed me. “Yes, I know. Sky told me,” I smiled sheepishly at him. “As I said, I’m an orphan, and when my mother found me in a carton box, there was nothing to identify my family or me. Let’s just say I had a thing for some sort of family heirloom since I never had one like that.” He pursed his lips, nodding in agreement. “And a book? I have tons of books in the study room, but which one will you get?”