Jack had to remind himself to take a breath. It had never benefited him to get worked up. Not at the orphanage and not now. "Ha! If you could even call it that." he thought to himself. An orphanage is where soon to be parents go to adopt kids that can't have any of their own or want to rescue children from such places. None of that had happened there. No, instead they were like prisoners that never got to leave. They had doctors and therapists there all the time. Every single one of them giving him the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. At least that's how the administration felt. The other kids there on the other hand brought warmth and a shared acceptance of the place. At least at first.
Seventy-seven kids rounded up from every walk of life imaginable. One thing they all shared in common: Dead parents and as the admin put it, overactive imaginations.
Yes. Even after the medication and therapy every last one of them could still see the supernatural. At least that's what they all came to the consensus of in hushed whispers. Jack and the others learned to keep their "delusions" to themselves after the therapy became intense and medication became zombifying.
The therapy was more like torture. Often, they were beaten for giving less than satisfying answers. That's how the downfall of all the kids began. That's when Jack had started noticing that his friends didn't seem like his friends. The once beautiful light in all of them now diminished. They also gave rational explanations for the supposed sight the children had.
"There's good and bad everywhere. People making bad decisions or making good decisions. Often you can tell those intentions by body language." the therapist would say.
This in turn meant that what they thought they saw, they weren't actually seeing. Demons or angels whispering encouragement on a person's will was a figment of their imagination. What they were seeing instead was a person's character based on body language. That the spirit wasn't brightening when the angel was winning over the will of another or that a spirit darkened bending to the will of a demon. Though if someone gave into what any of them thought they were seeing, it took time. The process was hardly ever instant. Free will could never be taken, but encouragement from one side to the other happened frequently. Though it was easy to believe what they were saying. After all, while in the orphanage no one ever saw any demons or angels or other people for that matter.
They had the administration which no soul could really be made out at all within them. Then there were the kids. Each one having the brightest souls they had ever seen. When days became months and months became years, more and more of the children lacked the soul they once had. It almost became like they were a blank slate. They kind of sounded the same and acted the same, but the same familiar feeling that Jack had with the admin began to be what he felt when around his friends.
It had taken a ling time to get out of that place. Even now Jack had to go to a therapist from the orphanage once a week. He was no longer in the orphanage and was released on the condition that he regularly took meds and went to the the one they provided for him. He took the deal in a heartbeat when he turned 18. Anything to be out of that hell hole.
Stripping his imagination was one thing but ensuring that he would never use it again was going too far. They had stripped him of his childhood. Took his rocke... his rocket...
When he had first got there they had taken his rocket. He had been letting it float in the air... or thought it was floating in the air when they had snatched it from him. It seemed like not too long after that, that the headaches began. There was a big gap in his memory from the time of getting there and getting to his room. Days had passed, but he couldn't remember how many. He could remember a pain in his head but was certain it was just from the headaches. Headaches from the trauma he had experienced. At least that's what the therapists always told him.
Jack forced himself from his memories. Wiping a tear from his eye he looked out his car window. It was a beautiful summer Friday afternoon. "Why now do they have to flood back." he mumbled to himself.