Chapter 1 - Robin

15 years later…

 

“Hey Robin Hood.”

Stupid book.  It just had to have my name in it.

That book ruined my life, telling the tales of a guy who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.  You’d think that it would make people actually pay attention to me…in a good way.  But no, they make fun of me now.  Well, more than they did before.

I don’t know why, maybe it’s because it’s a boy that steals, or because they now think that I’m going to try to steal things from them.  But it’s not like they have anything worth stealing.

No one has ever adopted me; I’ve always lived in this orphanage.  Other girls come and go, as well as some of the boys.  I have absolutely no friends…and all I know about my parents is that they died in a war, and left me in a wagon wrapped in a hooded cloak.

And that’s what gave me my name.

I still have that cloak; in fact, I’m wearing it now.  That hood is my only escape.

I ducked around a building, put my hair in a ponytail, and flipped up my hood.  People don’t recognize me through the cloak and hood, even though my name is sewed on the bottom.

I have no idea why it would be this way, it just is.  No one pays me attention when the hood is up…but I like it that way, it lets me escape from the cruel world that I have come to know.

I walked into one of the few stores that allow me without ridicule and put my hood down.  People are nice here; I do not wish to hide.  I grabbed a honey cake and walked up to the counter, taking out one of the few silver coins I have.

“Hello, Hal,” I said with a smile, he is one of the few people that treat me like another human being.

“Miss Robin Hood,” he said, “what can I do for you today?”

“Just this honey cake, please,” I said, setting the small pastry on the counter.

“That’ll be one silver, please,” he said.

I handed him the coin and he took it with a smile.

“How has the store been?” I asked him.

“Like always,” he said, “not many costumers.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You deserve more than you have.”

“You’re quite nice, Robin Hood,” he said. “If only everyone was like you.”

“That would be chaos,” I said, “war would break out as soon as possible.”

He laughed, and the little gray hair he had on his head bounced. “I doubt that would happen.”

“Oh, trust me,” I said. “It would.”

He laughed again and I left, saying a quick good-bye.  He gave me a small wave, and as I went out the door, I put up my hood, glad to be invisible again.

I walked back to the orphanage and went up to my room without looking at anyone or putting down my hood, hoping no one would pay me attention.  Luckily, no one tried to talk to or insult me, and I made it to my lonely room without a bruise.

Oh, did I not tell you?  If I do anything that they find wrong, the Head will hit me.  The old Head of the orphanage was nice to the others and me, but when she died and the new Head came in, he was horrible from the start.  Only the boys like him, because he finds that boys can do nothing wrong.  So the girls have bruises and broken bones, and the boys have the nicest clothes and no chores.

I hate it, but cannot change it.

I took out my journal and flipped to a new page, taking a bite of Hal’s delicious honey cake.  I always write in it about my day, especially whenever the Head hits me.  I’ll draw pictures of what he did, even about the other girls.  There are so many pictures like that, but it’s not always about the injuries.  They don’t consume my life.

Today I got another honey cake, and it’s delicious!  I did not get hit, but as usual, I put up my hood and hoped for the best.  I can’t take it anymore!  I need to go, to live my life away from all this hurt.  I should just leave; say I’m going for a walk and leave.  I need to get out of here.  I cannot live this way any longer, I really wish I could just go, but I cannot…I have no where to go.  I have no money; no place to stay; no way of survival.  What am I to do?

I just want to shut this journal and take it with me as I go and somewhere, anywhere away from here.  But, as usual, I can’t.  I get so close, but then I hide this journal so no one will ever find it and go on as usual.  I swear, I have said that exact paragraph at least twenty times, and I never actually go through with it.

“Robin!”

I looked up at the sound of the Head’s voice, then quickly closed my journal and hid it under the covers, unable to hide it any better at the fact that I can hear him running up the steps.

“Robin!” he repeated as he forcibly opened my door. “What the hell are you doin’ up"here?!”

“I-I,” I stuttered. “I didn’t have any chores.”

“So?!” he spat, and I could smell the alcohol from across the room.  He’s drunk.  I’m dead.  He slammed the door behind him and stumbled over to me. “Doesn’t mean you have to be shut up in your room all alone.”

Oh, I’m dead.

He crashed down on my bed, landing where my journal was, and then suspiciously took it out from under the covers.

Nope, I was wrong.  Now I’m dead.

“Whats is"this?” he asked as he opened it up.

Well, I’ve dug my own grave, might as well make it deeper.  “It’s nothing!” I said quickly, taking it out of his grasp before he could see what’s inside.

“What"are you"hidin’ Ro-in?” he asked, my name slurred.

“I-I’m not hiding anything,” I said in a quiet voice.

He put his face close to mine and I could feel his rancid breath on me. “Well"I know that’s not"true.”

I leaned back until my head hit the wall, then ducked out of his way and got up as he followed.

“So…what iss"that?” he asked, standing up so he could grab my arm and dig his nails into my skin.

I couldn’t speak, I could barely even think, as he pushed me against the wall and untied my cloak, pushing it off my shoulders.

“Let me go,” I said weakly, and that just made him smirk.

“N-o.”

I struggled from his grip and grabbed my cloak, ducking under his arm and going across the room.

“Wheres you"goin’?” he asked, trying to grab me again.

“Away from you,” I mumbled.

His smirk faded and he raised his hand, and then smacked me so hard in the side of the head that it sent my world spinning.

“Don’t"d’so that!” he screamed, too drunk to say anything right.  He then kicked me in the side of my calf, making it so it hurt to stand.  I cowered against the wall, balancing on my one good leg, as he grabbed my elbow and twisted it so hard that I heard a crack and pain shot up my arm.

I bit my cheek and swallowed a scream; if I did he’d just smirk and hurt me more like he always did.  He twisted it a little more as a tear rolled down my cheek; I was unable to hold it back.  He then let go and spat at my crumpled form, then opened the door and left, slamming it hard behind him.

I slid down the wall and broke, just lying on the floor nursing my wounds and crying.  I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to see through all the tears.

All I knew was that I had to leave before he could do anything else to me.  And this time I would do it.

This time, I was going to leave and never look back.