an abandoned child - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Abandoned is what you see on the outside, and then you make a cacophony of judgements for why I am so very alone. But let me open up my head and soul so that you can see what being abandoned really does to a human. At first there is the screaming of the soul, the begging and the will to do anything not to suffer, to stop the soul shattering and bleeding so invisibly. Then there is the breaking of the brain itself, the falling into emotions that push and pull, the erosion of self respect and self control. And it hurts. It hurts every day until the brain stops yearning for love and begins to reject its cure... because to there is a part of you that will always remember how it feels to be so abandoned, for everyone you ever loved to show you so clearly that they have no idea what love is. And this transformation is so very painful for the sensitive hearts because we fight it, we cling to love, to the smallest whisper of a chance for love, for a love that would weather any storm to remain true, that would rather die than abandon because they fully comprehend the pain that would cause. So, when you find a soft hearted person abandoned... when you find love in their eyes... keep them safe in your arms forever, and they will do the same for you.
A path has been cut through the wheat field, not wide, just enough to show a person has entered. Rose follows the path of broken stems to what at first glance is a bundle of clothes. She takes her walking cane and gives it a gentle poke. In a flash the bundle takes the from of a child, moving away with tiny hands raised over their grubby face. It's a girl, skinny as they come, scarecrow-like in the oversized garments. She whimpers as if expecting a blow. Rose has seen these abandoned children before, many of them now live at the cottage as her own sons and daughters. She begins to sing a lullaby, soft and sweet, placing her stick on the summer earth. The child lets her hands fall and she simply stares as if she's seen an angel. Rose crouches and holds out her hand, "God has sent me to find you little one, I am a mother who can never have too many children to bless my home. Are you hungry?"
The child stands so still, unsure if River is friend or foe. Long tangled hair blows about his face, obscuring the layer of grime that is only broken by tear tracks. His clothes are of the summertime that passed several weeks ago and his cheekbones are more pronounced than they should ever be on one so young. At his age he should be cherubic, but instead he reminds River of the old concentration camp photographs he saw in high-school. He falls slowly to his knees so as not to spook the child and pulls his own lunch from this backpack. He sets it on a low wall and backs away, letting the boy come forwards. When the gingerbread is gone the child begins to cry and comes to River with arms open wide. Though he doesn't yet know it, he just adopted his first child in this crazy new world.
Lonely, starved of warmth, the little boy stared into the crystal river water. His face was drowning in sorrow yet a spark of strength within let him stay strong that moment longer. Then the waterfalls emerged from his eyes along with cries and sobs. What had he done to deserve this dejection? Outcast by his family and frightened of nature and society alone he had nowhere to call home, yet this crystal river... somehow it gave him comfort allowing him to see himself. Almost as if he wasn't alone, but had his inner soul there, backing him up whatever he did. It relieved him of his griefs. Someone he could talk to, someone who existed to him. Even though no words came back he could hear the sounds of nature, tickling the tip of his ear, keeping him company.
I'm not a child anymore, I grew up many years ago. Life was never easy with Mom and Dad, but after they both left it was hell. In some ways my life improved. There were good people who cared, enough food and clothes. But every time I saw a cut flower I knew how it felt. It had no roots at all, nothing to anchor it to this world; yet was still expected to give its beauty, to flourish and warm the hearts of others. No-one can see my vulnerability; they cannot see the roots I lack. I paint the world with the vibrancy of my laughter, hugs and kindness. I look forward to the future and work hard in everything I do. One day I will be a parent; will I do better? What will happen when my children reach the age at which my own parents walked away, abandoning this burden they no longer wished to carry? I vow to be everything they weren't and give what they did not - security and unconditional love. I pray to God to give me that strength, to help me funnel the love he gives me to my children.
Suddenly the photographs seem like a bad idea- more trauma for a kid who feels abandoned by the one person who never should. There is no way to explain to Darwin at this age that she had no choice, that likely she gave her life for him. To a baby...gone is gone...no excuses and nothing to soften the blow. He holds his arms up to me, perhaps scared I'll leave him too. I guess I will have to sometime soon, but not yet. We have what we came for: clothes, boots and toys. I'll stash the pictures for when he's old enough to understand that his mother never left him by choice.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
Even with her fortieth birthday looming on the horizon Aylsa was still an abandoned child. Everyone she met knew the inner most secrets of her life within minutes of meeting her. It was like watching someone bleed-out emotionally before your eyes, like that wound would just never heal. All these years on she still fell on every soul she met, floundering for someone to fill the unfillable.
I want to be as nonchalant on the inside as I am on the outside. I have perfected a mask of calm and competence; the person I present is mature and capable, professional. On the inside is the same kid I was at fourteen, scared that someday someone will pull the rug out, tell me my ideas are rubbish and I have no talent at all. I want to be one of those people with a rock at their centre, someone able to stand alone and not be lonely- someone who attracts people because they are strong. In a way I do, but it's just a charade, a tower of cards. Should my foundation get a good jab, the whole thing will come down to reveal the abandoned child within- the child who still mourns for who they were before the world exploded. Before they learnt that “forever” could be frighteningly short and “unconditional love” was subject to the whims of a selfish parent and that information is still burnt into my cerebral cortex, writ large in scars.
The city streets are no place for a child, no loving parent could let them roam such a dangerous and filthy place. Any child found wandering is assumed to be abandoned, unprotected, exploitable without consequence. Today is no different, there is a sharp cry in the alleyway below. Travis goes to the window, back to the wall, peering through the pre-cleaned circle in the grime. There is a girl of no more than six, pale hair showing through the muck she must have slept in, fighting back against a scrawny man who has her by the waist. Travis opens the window and fires just one shot before diving out onto the fire escape. The man takes flight leaving his prize behind, startled and shaking.
Leon spits his tobacco, cheeks flushing red, at the door is another bag of mangy bones. He rolls his eyes, abandoned children, how is it his problem is the poor won't stop breeding. The girl is no more than seven, willowy and gaunt, her eyes older than her years. The smell of Leon's baking bread has brought her, a sweet smell in the otherwise acrid smog. His eyes flicker to yesterday's stale bread but his face hardens. If he gives it she'll be back for more tomorrow and the last thing he needs is a hoard of wretches putting of his fine customers.
Her beady eyes stared into my soul as if searching for a glimmer of hope that I would be her saviour. The dress she wore was expensive. I know it because my daughter has the exact same one --- a Louis Vuitton piece. Now, it was covered in dirt and filth, tinted with mud brown, nothing of class that her aura spoke of. Her scrawny fingers held the paw of her teddy bear tightly. Her teddy bear was all she had close to her family, must be a gift from someone. Her golden locks were in a tangled mess, but she still looked pretty. She turned to look at the croissant I had in my hand. Her eyes begged but it must have been her pride that weighed down her lips knowing that people like us have a heart as cold as ice. Undoubtedly, she was taught well, a rich man's daughter but it seems like the rich man wasn't as rich to keep her after all.
The crescent moon hung above the evergreen forest as the cry of a child stained the wind passing by. The trees chattered and the wolf pack gathered around the beautifully carved pine cradle with overflowing blankets that gently spread over the newborn’s bare form covering it from the bitterness of the wind. The moon shone on its face as it stared with awe and sadness at the wolf leader who gave an affectionate grin to the infant. Even in the darkness, the moonlight highlighted the child’s face which was covered with grime but broken by the tears, constantly renewing the lanes that lay parallel to the soft tissue of its nose. At that moment, the forest sang a silent lullaby as the animals nurtured the young girl. The cradle started to hover over the ground with the moon shining its brightest light, deciding the child’s dreadful fate, as it chose her as the guardian of these woods.