The orphanage was as dismal on the outside as it was on the inside. Actually, scratch that; the inside was marginally worse. There were small punctures in the roof, letting the moss and the damp infect the ceiling. Lichen, mould and mildew coated the walls in places. The floorboards were worn and scratched and a mouse hole was gnawed into the skirting board.

The wallpaper was peeling away from the wall, and the plaster crumbling to dust beneath. There was an ominous dripping noise sourced from god only knows where and moisture had pooled on the floor in one corner of the room.

Why Barney had dragged me across the state to take up residence in that hellhole was beyond me.

"That's your bed," he instructed, dumping his luggage on the bed with a less tarnished frame and less deflated mattress. He sprawled out on it like he was a king in a throne, propping himself up with the sagging pillows and staring intently at me. "Settle in then, this is our new home..."

I hugged my bag to my chest and peered around and reluctantly shifted away from the bed. I feared if I placed my possessions anywhere the thing, the bug-teeming mattress would infect my clothes with ticks and fleas and the mould would spread from the degrading mattress onto my bag.

"I don't like it here," I uttered, turning my nose up at the bleak surroundings.

"Should'a thought about that before you flunked in school and sent mom and dad to their death fetching thanksgiving dinner," Barney retorted, his words cutting.

Remembering how I was admonished last time, with word of mouth and impact of fist, I sealed my lips and hung my head. His hateful gaze resting upon me. Muted entirely by his words, I sat down on the bed and started unpacking my pristinely folded clothes into a nearby crude drawer.

"That's a good lad," Barney chortled with amusement from the other bed. "After all this is your home now... With the rats... Where you belong..."

After so many years, I could withstand the striking of fist and foot, but words still blistered me. I simply inverted the feeling and pretended it hadn't been said.

After unpacking, we exited the tiny dormitory that had been allocated to us and joined the other residents in the hallway. Other children with drab garbs that smelt of sweat and dirt milled towards the communal eating area. The corridors were just as dull as the dorms, not a singular decoration on the walls and the wallpaper was curling away from the wall. We all wandered down the stairs, through the entrance hall and into the dingy cafeteria.

The cafeteria was more of a box that a hall: we were crammed onto tables joined end to end, benches running parallel either side. And before us were cracked porcelain plates, discoloured from prelonged usage. The cutlery was rusty at the hilt and the tips still had remnants of previous meals sticking to them. I downed the utensils with repulsion. There wasn't even place mats or coasters, and the glasses sat by the plates and cutlery, a rancid translucence about them.

The room was poorly lit, the unwashed windows with its coat of green rot didn't facilitate good lighting and a few bulbs dangled from the ceiling without a lampshade: they were dim and flickered occasionally. A distinct whirring from the poor light fittings filled the rooms, an undercurrent to the murmuring of voices.

The floor was made of dented and scratched floorboards, and I swore I could see splodges of food from meals past decaying on it.

I felt like I'd fallen into a specific Dickens novel.

One by one we were permitted to queue at the counter at the top of the room and received a diminishing plateful of food. It wasn't appetising, but my stomach was roaring like a hungered dragon and there wasn't another option. So I spooned the slop into my mouth, desperately not trying to think about the lumpy texture or the off taste or how cold it was. As I picked at it and made gruesome faces, Barney glared across the table at me, clinching his fist on the table top; it was enough to encourage me to eat up.

After lunch, as I headed back up towards our allocated room, Barney splintered off in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" I hissed, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

Impatience written across his face, "Into town," he grumbled.

"What for, there's nothing here... This place is run down... The most exciting thing is the dumpster on the street corner; at least you might find some signs of life in there..." I looked around at the deteriorating structure.

"Why'd y'think we came out here?" Barney retorted. "I didn't lug you across the state for nothing... Before I was saddled with you; I was making a career for myself out here. I'm just hoping I have a job to return to..." Barney's jaw was taut. "Thanks again, squirt(!)" He said sarcastically.

Standing aimlessly on the spot whilst other children busied themselves around me, I sighed. "So what do I do? Stay here? Go somewhere? Fend for myself?"

Barney chortled with laughter, making for the door in the foster home. "No one is going to fend for you, so you may as well. Like I give a damn what you do. Just be home when I am..."

"And when will that be?" I threw my hands up in the air.

The resounding slam of the door and the draught of air that jostled my hair was the only answer I got. "Great..." I mused, turning on the ball of my foot and dawdling up the stairs, relying on the bannister to haul myself along.

I changed out of my reeking clothes that had become like a filthy second skin with their twenty-four-hour usage. No laundry basket to hand, I stuffed them back into my bag and grabbed a towel and a spare pair of clothes.

Having seen the showers on my initial prospecting, I headed towards the boys washrooms and found a grotty block of communal showers. The tiles were dingy and covered with dank green rot and the faucet was leaking a dribble of water into the gutters on the flooring. There was a button to press to turn on the water and I reluctantly stepped under the line of fire and pressed it in.

It was like being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles as the blast of icy water hit my skin. I convulsed out of it's stream and threw my arms around myself, shuddering. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I was aware that I had yelped.

In some desperate hope the water would warm, I held my hand under, pressing the button over and over waiting for the temperature to improve. Shivering, teeth chattering in my skull and my body uncomfortably numb in selective places, I sobbed with frustration.

It didn't warm, and standing in the open air, a towel draped around my hips; I found jumping under the icy flow was my only option. Braving it in bursts, I combed my hands through my uncut hair - the cut having deteriorated with neglect and lack of money - and rubbed down my body. And after fighting against my natural bodily instincts to keep warm for the best part of two minutes, I wrapped myself up in my towel and staggered my way back to my room.

It's funny how a little cold water can be so debilitating. And the coldness stays under your skin, it doesn't warm up easily. I was quick to throw on clothes, still dripping with beads of icy water, trying to insulate myself.

Taking a wander to the radiator in the corner, I touched the old dusty thing to discover not an ounce of water ran through the pipes. My only hope of drying out besides the rubbing of my towel was the slight sunshine peeking out from behind the clouds.

So what did I do?

I prized open the window: sealed stiff with ivy like cement, and scaled the wall down into the street. Typically, I landed in a puddle and muddy rainwater splashed up onto the ankles of my jeans. Making a feral noise, I dismissed it and took to scouring the streets of my new home.

All truth told, I had no idea where I was. But the town was a mass of abandoned buildings and run down shops. It was neither the petite farming town of Waverly with it's golden cornfields or the sky-scraping wonder of New York City. I was caught in the apathy of that particular urban district.

Walking down the grey streets, with it's grey pavements and grey skies - the one dash of colour I did notice were the carnival posters. They were nailed to walls and lamposts. Across the front there was an old fashioned drawing of a bunch of carnies; trapeze artists swinging from the big top, clowns with their sinister painted faces and oversized shows, and the ringleader appeared to be a swordsmaster of sorts.

I'd always loved the circus when it had stopped in Waverly when I was a kid. Some of my earliest memories were Barney taking me, hand in hand, wowed at all of the daring feats performed and all of the antics that they used to pull off with pyrotechnics, wild animals and gymnastics. Checking no one was looking, like a hooligan, I tore it off the lamppost, feld it and pocketed it.

I fled the scene where torn corners of the poster were still nailed to the post.

Breaking away from the scene of the vandalism, skulking with my hood drawn over my head, I bumped into someone.

We clacked heads. There was a mess of long dark hair and even my deaf ears could pick up their distressed noises as we scuffled apart.

"Sorry, I-" I stopped for a second, dark eyes, dark hair. "Katie?" My heart seemed to miss a beat and I placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

The moment they'd rectified their hair, and moved it out of their face, I realised that the face was not one familiar to me. I gawped gormlessly, cringing at the mistake. "My mistake ma'am-"

They planted two hands on my chest and shoved me away firmly, shouting all sorts of abuse and then bustled away down the street.

"Nice one, Barton," I scolded, kicking a crumpled soda can on the roadside. "You've cracked already."

It had been twenty-four hours and I was already missing her.

Trouble is, you're never grateful for a good thing until it's gone. Then no amount of wishing will bring it back. And Katie was the only good thing in my life. She's the break in the clouds where the sunshine peeps through, and I was grateful to be able to bask in her glow. Katie was the little sister I always wanted.

Across the street I spotted a post office, in the window, stationery. Paper and pens, envelopes and stamps.

The sensible voice in my head remarked on how useful that might be to write to Kate. The reckless voice was the one that dragged me across the road and to the door where it opened with a charming tinkle.

Hand plunged into my pocket, I withdrew a palm full of shrapnel. The coins wouldn't substantiate to what I wanted to buy.

Anyone with a sense of self-preservation and a working moral compass might walk out or try and barter for a lower price. But me? Raised a ruffian who used to slingshot my classmates from hiding spots as a source of entertainment, I brushed past the stand with the paper and slipped it under my hoodie.

The customer next to me eyed me suspiciously, and that wasn't just because of my tatty clothes and raised hood.

Next was a prospect of the pen pot, rifling through I sneaked one up my sleeve.

"Sir?" The cashier called, clocking my skulking. "Something I can help you with..?"

I wasn't stupid enough to turn to face the man I was thieving from. That way he'd be able to pick out my guilty mug in a police lineup; should it come to that.

"Sir..?" The voice in quested insistently.

I ran my hand along the envelopes, subtly trying to swipe one.

"Sir, what are you doing?" The cashier wandered around from behind the till and approached me.

The clock ticking, I pilfered an envelope off the shelf and hot footed it to the door.

"Hey! Come back here!" The attendant cried, reaching to grab me. I felt the pinch of the fabric at the back of my neck before I escaped. "Stop that kid!" He bellowed, pointing at me and coordinating a cluster of customers into chasing me.

I could hear my heart hammering in my ears and my feet pounding on the pavement as I left a criminal.

I could hear a couple customers attempting to hunt me down, but I was quick to peg it down a nearby alleyway, splashing through stagnant puddles and coming to a halt.

And I commit that moment to memory as my first hit of adrenaline that got me hooked as a junkie. Somewhere inside me, a pleasant euphoria erupted at having caused then escaped trouble. In my hands were the fruit of my labour, and I snuck back into the fortified walls of the orphanage to write my letter; I wasn't going to endanger myself by remaining close to the scene of the crime.

Sitting on the bed, I tore off the cap of the pen with my teeth and straightened the paper on the bedside table.

'To Katie (shut up, I can hear you complaining about the nickname from here),

I don't know where here is, but it sucks. All I know is I'm on outreaches of Iowa; everything's made of concrete and the world is a grey place without you. Barney's got a job out here and he's taken us to an orphanage.

I've become Oliver Twist. I was half tempted to say "please sir, can I have some more?" Over lunch - except the slop they served us looked and tasted like nuclear waste. 'But how do you know what nuclear waste tastes like, Clint?' I don't know, but you get the idea.

Anyway, none of that's important, because I never got to say goodbye. I stole the pen and paper and envelope just to write this letter, but best not tell anyone thing.

Consider this my goodbye. I promise I'll come back to Waverly someday, and we'll go and play in the fields like we used to, sit on your swing set together and watch the sunrise, and see who can hit the can from furthest away with a slingshot. There's so many unfinished games we've yet to play, and I'm sorry I left without a word.

None of this was my choice. I hate it here and would return home in a heartbeat. Not that my home is my home anymore, as you'll probably soon discover.

I want you to know that you mean the world to me, I-'

My scribbling was halted by the sound of my brother opening and slamming closed the door. An uncorked bottle of cheap whiskey sloshing in his hand, he flopped on the bed.

"What's that?" I asked, downing my paper and pen.

"Whiskey, what does it look like dumbass?" Barney snapped, washing it back with teary eyes.

Echoes of my father's poisonous behaviour in his mannerisms "You shouldn't drink that stuff..." I told him.

"I'm twenty-one, I earnt the right to for waiting this long." Demonstratively he necked the drink. "What are you doing?" He cast his woozy eyes over to me.

"Writing a letter," I told him meekly.

"Didn't know you could write dumbass..." He said with a snort. Then he staggered from his bed and swayed to me. He snatched it off the beside table.

"Hey! Give it back!" I lurched at him, but he held it out of my reach, sending me teetering to the floor.

"To Katie-" He gave a dry laugh. "Isn't that the Bishop's kid? The rich posh assholes who turned up at ma' and pa's funeral and didn't give a stitch to us when the business fell through? Fuck her, Clint. Fuck all'a them!" He tore up my prose into shreds and the tatters scattered before my eyes.

"You asshole!" I wailed and thumped him on the cable from where I was sprawled on the floor.

Not thinking about repercussions, I got a boot to the face and my nose began to leak a stream of scarlet. I rolled over and choke out a noise of agony, my eyes welling with dew of agony. The cartilage had shattered, I was sure of it.

"I just wanted to apologise to Kate!" I spluttered, gargling around the blood dribbling into my mouth. "For leaving!" I sobbed.

"You don't owe her any kind of apology! You owe them nothin'! Snooty assholes can rot in hell! The only thing you owe anyone is an apology, to me!" Barney slurrered, waving the bottle about animatedly and dripping it into me.

"Why do I owe you anything for taking me to this hellhole?!" I wailed, a hand pinching my nose and tears raining from my eyes.

"Because I've given you somewhere to live even after you ruined my life!" He roared, walloping me in the shoulder with his boot. "And the only way I'm going to get a job now, is if I join the U.S. army!" He screamed at me.

"You cant!" I garbled. "What about me?!"

"You should'a thought about that sooner..."

A/N - So this is closer to three thousand words than my usual two thousand (which are always nearer the 2300 mark). I hope it didn't drag too much, but I wanted to do some scene setting and progress the story significantly.

A brief reminder, if you're enjoying this- don't be shy! Leave a vote, comment, or even follow me! All support is appreciated! And I'd love it if you were to read some of my other works! Thank you!

Dedication later, this is being uploaded on my phone and I haven't connects to oh holiday wifi yet!