Dumbo The Orphan
This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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Oh God, I hated to see that bright yellow light as it rose every single morning of my young life. The sun’s rays were striking the white, brick dormitory building and slowly creeping up the wall into my bedroom at the orphanage. Finally, the unexpected rays began to glow between the fingers of my tiny hands - hands pressed tightly against my ‘ugly little face.’ Each and every morning, that old sun forced me to open my eyes, stirring up the hornets nest of pain and sorrow I was living, and slowly growing and eating away at the inside of my ‘beady little brain.’

It was still a strange and unknown feeling to me as a 7-year-old boy - like an invisible, confused and fuzzy little thing that was always secretly stirring and tickling away, somewhere way down deep inside of me. Occasionally, it moved around here and there and then hid all over again. Whatever, it was nourishing itself on the crumbs of sorrow and pain that a small boy had absorbed during his earlier years. Part of it was a thought; part just a feeling. It was a strange thing waiting to grow up and jump out into the world proudly showing that it had turned itself into a full-grown monster of hate - something strange those adults now have to live with almost every day of their life.

I was 7 years old when the matrons at the orphanage first laughed at me and made their never-ending daily comments about how "big" my ears were. They commented about how they stuck out and what an "ugly little bastard" I was.

I could have lived with those comments, but the fact that I had to carry a brown paper bag lunch to school every day - that was a sign to all the other kids in my class (who had parents), that I was from the orphanage next door to the school building and that nobody really wanted me. That was a very tough road for me to travel all alone. I was just a little boy, who had never hurt anybody.

One day, I could take no more teasing. I threw down my brown paper bag lunch and stomped on it with my foot, until it was mashed and flat. Then I went into the Azalea bushes and I cried for a long time. Finally, I yelled to the monster to come out of me and to help me not hurt anymore. In a secret voice, he told me that he was not supposed to come outside of kids, until they were all grown up. But he came out anyway, smiled and told me to close my eyes very tight.

“Make a make a wish and give me your heart,” he said.

“Then he told me to flap on my big ole elephant ears and the pain would never come back. Then the monster had me beat on a tree with a bamboo stick, over and over and over. It made me feel warm and much better inside. Then he laughed, as hard as he could and he disappeared taking my little heart with him.

I guess he kept his word, because he never brought my heart back to me, ever. Even after I grew up and became big, my heart never came back to hurt me. Just like the monster promised.

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