The Sparrow

Rain fell heavily on the cold, cobblestone streets of the town. The sky had been gray for days and the anticipation for the rain was immense. Sunlight was uncommon for the large town, unlike the rain.
In the midst of this rain a girl, seventeen years of age, lay in her makeshift bed, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof and window. The sound of a droplet falling into a bucket of water sounded again and again as rain fell through the many cracks in the poorly constructed roof. There was no money to repair the roof and so the children living there did their best to avoid getting wet as they slept. There was no avoiding the rain. Many times, in fact, the rain is a comfort for the children. It is one of the few constants in their otherwise miserable lives. Misery is another constant.

The only child, or should she even be called a child, that made an attempt to better the lives of the young ones now lay there awake, shivering in the cold. She bared it as she had gladly given her blanket to the group of tiny creatures huddled in the corner in attempts to keep warm in their ragged garments. So there she lay in her rags on the cold, worn wood floors, trying to close her eyes and find some comfort in her dreams.

She did not hate her circumstances or spite the people that she had been told left her there. She did not despise the Matron that was so cruel and sharp to her beloved housemates. She did not despise being an orphan. It was just a way of life to her. She was the type of girl who accepted life as it was and attempted to make the best out of it given her circumstances. Perhaps that is why the Matron of the house despised her so much.

Unable to sleep, the girl sat up and shuffled over to the old window. Through the blur of the water on the glass she peered outside, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon. She would have no luck. The cloud cover was too thick so the moon’s light was unable to penetrate through. It was a rare occasion that the moon may peak through so the girl’s disappointment was minimal. She instead spent her time gazing down on the street below.

During the day there are all sorts of people that traveled in front of the run down orphanage that the girl called home; tall people, short people, old and young, skinny and plump, rich and poor. Now, all that roamed these dark streets were the abandoned cats and dogs and the occasional homeless. The girl always looked below at the cats and dogs running from shadow to shadow and wished she could feed them. They had no place that they could call home just as she had none. The animals reminded her of both herself and her cherished housemates. She felt no pity, just the want to help them along.

The people who ran this large city did not come over to the area she now lives very often. It is the dirty part of town, the contaminated part. If they were to enter here, their wealth would slowly be sucked away. They feared this area, thought that it be run by evil spirits. In their mind they felt that the poor were evil. They thought the poor were grimy and dirtied and had chosen to be as poor as they were. They didn’t realize that the poor were kept poor by the rule of those who were most afraid. The poor were kept poor not by choosing, but from lack of opportunity and encouragement. The poor have been so beat down and dragged around for such a duration of time that they have given up and lost almost all hope. From here stemmed the crime.

The poor, with no outlets in advancement, no opportunity to improve, and no room to grow took their desires of ‘more’ and their desires of ‘out’ to crime. They robbed and fought amongst each other, killing and thieving around to obtain but a centimeter more. They protected what little property they had. The poor were so consumed by greed that they neglected what was really important in family and friends and created allies and enemies instead. Lots of enemies. The town was broken and so were its values.

The girl here in the orphanage, she understood all this too well. She has observed it all from this very window and felt that this fate was inevitable. The people were too greedy, too preoccupied with their desires, to see what they were doing. But this was not all she saw. She saw also the smiles and warmth of people’s faces from the good. The laughter of children carried through the narrow streets that at the moment, covered in rain, and without any light but that of the street lamps, seemed so cold.

The market chatter was her favorite. The hustle and bustle of the square that was in reality but a few blocks away was enough to make her smile. There was the loud guffaws of the fisherman and the chortle of the common man. Mothers and their children toured the square. The smell of the food being cooked by street vendors would waft into the house, trough the thin walls, leaky ceilings, and broken windows, and send a pang of hunger to the girls stomach. She enjoyed it though. It meant that people elsewhere were profiting and enjoying their time with one another through food. She just happened to not have that opportunity.

She, as with all the orphans, was lucky to get one meal a day. She would go a day here and there giving up her portion of stale bread and the soggy gruel-like concoction so that the others could eat their fill. She took it upon herself to raise the children, comfort them, tell stories and tuck them in, attempt to protect them and take the punishment of the Matron. She was like a mother to them. She hoped that even at the age of 18 (that was but two day from now), she would be allowed to stay at the orphanage and continue to be the mother of these poor orphaned boys and girls. She knew though that she would not be so lucky. So she cherished what time she had left, spending the night staring out the window that she has seen the world from, kept in this house, unable to leave. This was the strictest rule of the Matron. The Matron had many a rule but that by far was her favorite.

The children who lived in that dreary, broken down house, were left as uneducated as the girl would allow. She did her best to teach the children how to read and write. She tried to teach them how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. She hoped that these small skills would help these children when they would be forced to leave the house and have to make it in the cold world outside. They received neither formal schooling nor any lessons about real job skills. They were beat down verbally on a daily basis by the harsh words of the Matron. The children's self-confidence was destroyed and they were kept ignorant of the world through their lack of education. The Matron had done this intentionally so that she may have the power over the children to control them, to make them fear and respect her. She wanted to be at the top and through this means she felt she was.

The rain seemed to only be getting heavier, as the night drew on. There was no thunder, no lightning, just pure dark rain. The streets were covered in layers of water that quickly flowed off and away. The streets had yet to flood, a miracle that baffled the girl. She had no real interest in how it flowed away though. She would not sit there and ponder the aspect of why. She just knew that it did and that was enough for her. She felt that this was just another part of life. She felt that this would never change in her lifetime.

The first flash of lightning streaked across the sky, lighting it up for that too brief moment, illuminating the dark black with white. Thunder sounded loudly, scaring the house to a shudder that ran down to the foundation, rattling the bones of the house. The first lightning and first thunder of the new storm. It was a sign to the girl that if she were to get any sleep, which she did desperately need, she was going to have to lay back down and find slumber one way or another.

As she took one last glance out the window, longing to know what it would be like to walk the streets in the rain, she saw a shadow climb to the top of a roof. It was hard to spot and even more difficult to tell what it was exactly. She stared, trying to depict just what that thing could be. She came to the conclusion it was a boy. She was sure of it. Lightning struck, again lighting up the sky, highlighting the background for the figure. It was definitely a boy. She was certain. Then the sky went dark, darker than it had been before for but a moment but it was long enough. The figure was gone. It left the girl standing there questioning whether or not what she had seen was real or but a figment of her imagination.

She found a dry spot on the old floor to fall asleep on as thunder once again sent a chill down the spine of the house. After the skies had calmed down and the rumble was no more, the girl began to hear the sorrowful moan of a violin. It was eerie. The sound was quiet at first, but a whisper in her ears. It slowly grew louder, more passionate but still filled with sorrow. It was at the same time a comforting sound, like a lullaby to the girl. She closed her eyes and listened intently on the rise and fall of the music. It was beautiful.

Slowly, she drifted off to a dreamless sleep, riding the streams of melody that arose from the violin. She did not mind if the violin had been a figment of her imagination at that moment or if that shadow figure was never there. She just gently drifted off, listening to what she thought to be one of the most beautiful and sad sounds she had heard.