Chapter 1 The orphanage

"Kerata! Kerata come here!"

The voice could only be Nan, Mistress of Selkin's Home for Orphaned Children.

Otherwise known as the nastiest Mistress to ever have soiled the air of any orphanage ANYWHERE.

"KERATA!!!" Her high screechy voice grated against my eardrums. "Coming, ma'am, coming!" I yelled down the stairs from the tiny loft that was my room. And about ten other's. I had hated it for as long as I could remember. Which, unfortunately, was my whole life.

"KERATA! You get your @$$ down here this minute! Do you hear me? NOW!!!"

Unfortunately, Nan was a very vocal person. No secret was safe with her. That is, if anyone ever tell her a secret. Which was highly unlikely.

I tromped down the stairs, being as loud as I could to make sure she knew I was coming. Nan was in the kitchen. "Where is Nike?! She was supposed to do the dishes three minutes ago! All this trouble and for what? I have to do everything myself!" Nan was apparently in a good mood this morning. Usually it only took thirty seconds for her to start beating kids up if they didn't obey her instantly.

I stood stiffly while she went on about how insufferable they all were and how she paid good money to take care of them, which we all knew was a lie. The little money toward our clothing, food, and housing came from the government, and usually most of it ended up in Nan's pocket.

"Mam, I have no idea where Nike is. The last I saw of her, she was out sweeping the courtyard." I thought if I diverted Nan, she might leave to go look for Nike and forget I was standing there. No such luck.

She rounded on me."Well don't just stand there! Go get her! Then you will go to the bakery for another loaf. We're out."

I hurried out of the room, greatful to escape the cramped orphanage, even for a little while.

I bolted out the front door, and into the tiny courtyard of their trashy looking apartment building turned orphanage, breezing past Nike, who was indeed sweeping the courtyard. "Nan wants you, now!" I shouted as I went through the gate.

The hum of Chicago traffic burst upon my ears as I exited. I turned for a moment and stared at the scene; cars ran back and fourth on the four lane street in front of their deplorable little building, which was surrounded and dwarfed by skyscrapers, towers of steel and stone and glass. The glare of car lights and the reflection of the rising sun danced through the air, creating thousands of rippling reflections across the pavement. A sour odor compiled of gasoline, exhaust, rotton food and general grime permeated the area. The sound of Chicago taxies honking created an echoing symphony of off key notes.

I stood for a moment, loving the feeling of being free. It only lasted as long as a moment. Then reality smacked me in the face. The basket I held weighed on my arm. Would I ever be truly free?