Runaway

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was beet red and beads of sweat were formed at my temples, that’s what running half a mile does to me. You see, at Dwindley’s orphanage they’ve just introduced the “Get Fit!” program. What this program is supposed to do, I think, is turn all us orphans into these fit, skinny, and “sporty” kids that anyone will love to adopt. There are just so many kids here at Dwindley’s, at least 60, and I know all the headmistresses and headmasters just want to get rid of us. That is not an easy task, though. I mean, Dwindley’s is this small, unheard of orphanage a few hundred miles from New York City. Only one or two kids get adopted per month usually (much to the discontent of the heads). Thus, whatever the heads can do to make us more “adoptable,” they will do.

Out of every kid in this orphanage the only ones who ever get adopted are those cutesy, smiley toddlers. Every once in a while you may get the occasional 6, 7, 8 year old adopted, but that’s real rare. Never does someone like me get chosen to be part of a big, happy family.

First of all, there’s my name, Leenor, it’s just such an unusual name. Seems I can almost see the confusion in an adopter’s face when I tell them my name. Some ask, “Did you say Eleanor?” and I always respond with, “No it is Lee-nor.” Nobody understands that the first part of my name, the “leen” part, is said actually like the word lean. People always try to turn it into some type of regular name, which it definitely isn’t.

To be continued….