The wind blew her hair and swept across her face. It held the vengeance of a bitter winter. The girl continued to walk. She stopped occasionally to pull her rose red scarf up and her tattered old blue beanie down. She had no glasses so her big brown eyes were squinted in a way that shielded the wind, but tears were ripped from them anyways. Her long coat bathed in the gale. It sailed behind her like a brown cape torn from the hero. She walked as quickly as she could. She was wearing shoes with a slight heel, and they were half a size too big. Her ginger colored hair fluttered aimlessly around with the wind's mighty grip. She was a laughable sight; with her clumsy steps and mismatched clothes. However, this was not a laughing matter. June Saint Claire was on a very important mission.
She carried a folder stuffed with formal papers and documents. Only the person who's signature was scribbled across them could understand what was written. So June Saint Claire continued her bitter march towards the lonely gray building. It was wide and squat. It took up that of what two bakeries would. It was about five stories high, and had a basement not too many souls knew about. It looked dusty and worn out like an old man sitting on his rocker for the last time. Smoke erupted from the top as if the roof were a pipe. There were stone carvings on top of the large-hard wooden doors that read “Saint Mary and Peter's Home For Children”. In simple terms she had walked right up to a “Christian” orphanage. There she was about to embark on a wonderful adventure. Here “wonderful” means pitiful, and “adventure” means wonderfully pitiful chain of events. A woman dressed in black and white, obviously a nun, greeted Miss Saint Claire. They wore something called a hobbit or a habit. I can't remember the term, but that is a very boring and elusive detail. So Miss Saint Claire, as she liked to be called greeted the nun in return as she looked around. Everything was as bleak and cold as the outside. She was standing in a long hallway with an assortment of doors on each side and one at the end. Dim and somewhat school-like lights were strung from the gray ceiling. Miss Saint Claire heard murmured children voices coming from a distance. They seemed happy, and mind you there is an emphasis on the word “seemed”.
“Would you like me to show you to the adoption office. I assume that's why you came here on this oddly bitter day.” The old nun leaned forward trying to catch a glimpse of the secret papers that Miss Saint Claire was gripping with the strength of your average boa constrictor. “Oh no. No. I am here to see Mother Agnus. She called me a week ago to come for an appointment. I am applying as the new nurse.” Miss Saint Claire smiled as she spoke those words for she knew not of what the future would bring. The Nun, known as Sister Mary, stumbled backwards in an odd sort of fashion as if she'd seen something inexplicably frightening; perhaps a ghost or a glimpse of Satan. “Oh, well I wish you the best of luck Miss. You must be new in town. You would have known otherwise if you lived here. Come I'll show you to Mother Agnus's office.” Hearing this somewhat scary talk, Miss Saint Claire hesitated, but continued with Sister Mary anyway. That was a very fatal decision. It feels as if I'm watching a character from a horror film go into the scary cabin where people have been found dead as I write about our June Saint Claire's adventure. I know what is going to happen, but her future was elusive to her head.
“You can leave Sister Mary.” Mother Agnus's voice was dry, but at the same time kind. It was like a grandmother who smoked too much. The heavy door rammed into the door with such a force that a sharp noise rang out making Miss Saint Claire jump nervously. “Oh. Don't mind that door dearie. It's been broken for years. Come. Sit down.” If only she hadn't sat down then maybe she could have made it out. Miss Saint Claire sat down. All of the words Sister Mary said disappeared as her bottom found the chair. She relaxed and breathed. What was she so afraid about?
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