House of Loneliness

Alishia slowly edged toward the massive wooden door.
Her hand trembled as she touched the handle. Each breath felt heavy; her body ached as if salt had been poured into her nerves. Her neck throbbed, her spine stiffened, and her stomach twisted as though her bones might give way. But worst of all… she was alone. Again.

The house made that loneliness almost tangible. Ugly from the outside, it was worse inside—a place that seemed to pull the worst out of everyone who lived there. The air felt thick, as if a dozen unseen eyes were watching her.

She eased the door open just enough to make no sound. On tiptoe, she moved down the long hallway, one hand sliding along the wall for support. Each step felt precarious; she could collapse at any moment.

The weak light of the flickering bulbs revealed peeling wallpaper and warped floorboards. The smell was worse—mold, sweat, and rotting food clung to the air, making her stomach twist tighter. The walls were filthy, like the rest of the orphanage. Not many children lived here, but enough to bring in money. The adults didn’t care about the kids; they only cared about the fees.

Alishia took another careful step. Almost… in her room.

She tilted her head to ease the ache in her neck and pressed her hand against her stomach. Her other hand groped along the wall, trembling with every step.

Justq a few more steps… she told herself.

“Where do you think you’re going?”
A cold voice echoed through the hall.

Alishia froze.

She knew exactly who it was—the one educator who seemed to hate her with every fiber of her being.

Mrs. Takahashi.

“How dare you ignore me? You’re just as ungrateful as always.”

Alishia could not see her, she was far too far away and around the corner and Mrs. Takahashi knew that. She took pleasure in it—in making things harder, just like so many others did.

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t hear me,” she said, a sharp laugh following. “Or is pretending I don’t exist your newest little rebellion?”

“I’m sorry,” Alishia said, a slight edge of annoyance slipping into her voice.

Of course it was there. She had clawed her way out of hell only to stumble straight back into it. Anyone would be annoyed. Especially when hell spoke in polished voices and wore the mask of authority, and especially when hell bore the faces of cruel, insecure people.

“I don’t care about your excuses,” she said. “I care about you being where you’re supposed to be—and not wandering around in the middle of the night, doing who knows what.”

Alishia didn’t look up.

The annoyance inside her tightened, slowly giving way to anger. She couldn’t have a single moment of peace—not even one. Not ever.

All she wanted now was to collapse onto her old bed, even if it was stiff and uncomfortable, pull the thin blankets over herself, and sleep. The exhaustion ran deep, and even just resting for a moment felt like too much to ask.

“I didn’t see you,” Alishia said, turning her head just slightly—but not enough to reveal the bruises and cuts. Showing them would only get her into more trouble than she was already in.

“Don’t you talk back to me, you brat!” Mrs. Takahashi snapped, moving toward her.

Then, suddenly, a small child ran straight into her. The impact sent them both crashing hard onto the floor.

“DONT YOU HAVE EYES IN YOUR HEAD!?” Mrs. Takahashi screamed.

Alishia should have taken this moment to run, but the fear in the child’s eyes—and the way his body shook—stopped her. 

She couldn’t bear to see someone so hurt. She didn’t know why, but she could never ignore it. She had to help, it was like she could feel their pain too, like she was connected to it.

Just as she was about to move, another educator stepped in: Mrs. Sato—the only kind teacher here.

“Don’t be so hard on him. He probably didn’t see you,” she said kindly, shielding the child.

“I don’t care, this is unacceptable !” Mrs. Takahashi shouted.

As the two argued, Alishia seized the chance to quietly slip away.

When she finally reached her room, she pushed the door open and immediately fell onto her bed. The mattress was hard, but at that moment, it felt like she was sinking into clouds.

When she had regained a bit of strength, Alishia looked around her room, checking cautiously.

She was relieved to see her roommate, Mari, was not there.

Most of the other children didn’t like her. They didn’t bully her openly, but they whispered, spread rumors, and talked behind her back.

Mari, however, was different. She was more of a loner herself—she had a few friends but preferred to be alone or keep only a small circle close. She never looked at Alishia with disgust; she simply didn’t talk much. Quiet and shy, yes—but also kind.

They didn’t talk much, but neither of them minded.

She caught her breath and used her hands to push herself up from the mattress.
It burned, feeling like a thousand needles in her skin, but it was no use—she had to get up.

She walked into the bathroom, her steps still uneven.
She managed to open the door, almost falling, but her hand grabbed the sink just in time.

She breathed out, then looked carefully into the mirror.

She became pale.

On her neck was a deep cut, jagged and dark, the skin around it slightly swollen. A smaller, thin scratch ran across her cheek, faint but still stinging. Bruises covered her arms and legs, dark purples and blues fading into yellow at the edges. 

Her shoulders and ribs ached under the weight of the marks, as if every movement reminded her of the pain.

She grabbed the sink hard… and began to cry, her sobs heavy and unrestrained.
She couldn’t take it anymore. 

Every day, her mind was hunted, pushed further into exhaustion, and her body teetered on the verge of collapse. It felt as if it were slowly dying, piece by piece, with no chance to recover.

She tried to do something to forget it, to calm herself down in her mind—but she couldn’t.
Her throat hurt and felt heavy, warm tears streaming down her face.
She couldn’t keep her voice down, and it felt as if she were suffocating.

After a while, when her sobs finally quieted, she forced herself to move. Slowly, carefully, she began to tend to her wounds. Every touch burned—sharp and deep—sending jolts of pain through her skin. The cut on her neck stung the worst, throbbing with every breath she took. Her hands trembled as she cleaned it, teeth clenched to keep herself from crying out again.

The bruises hurt in a different way—dull, aching, spreading beneath her skin. Even the smallest movement made them flare, as if her body was reminding her of everything it had endured. It felt weak, fragile, like it could give up at any moment.

But the pain inside was worse. Heavier.

 It pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe, making her thoughts blur and spin. She had to stop. Just for a moment. If she pushed herself any further, she knew she would break down again.

So she sat there, unmoving, hands resting against the sink, breathing slowly until the shaking eased.

 She let the pain exist without fighting it, telling herself she could continue later. Right now, she just needed a break—to hold herself together for a little longer.

After she took care of her wounds, she walked out of the bathroom, her eyes swollen and looking like she hadn’t slept in days.
And she hadn’t. Sleep had always been difficult, especially today, because she still didn’t know how she was going to get the money.

Then it came to her mind again…
The money.

Suddenly, the overwhelming stress hit her like a wave. She tried to breathe, clutching onto her nightstand for support, her hands trembling against its cold surface.

She carefully took off her T-shirt after calming down.
It hurt, and bruises were exposed all over her body—along with old scars.

She took off her pants as well and carefully put on new ones, then a clean T-shirt.

Luckily, she had bandages—clean ones—or she wouldn’t have known how to treat her wounds properly.

But she felt ashamed, because she had stolen them.
She had gotten into trouble for stealing a few times before, and she always felt guilty. She truly didn’t want to do it, but she didn’t know what else to do.

She lay down onto her mattress, the light of the moon falling across her green-grey eyes and her almost-white blonde hair.
Her pale skin, marked with cuts and bruises, caught the moonlight.

She loved the moon. It was like a friend—or something far greater—always helping her survive each day.
Even if they didn’t talk, didn’t even see each other, or maybe even if she only imagined it, she felt like it protected her, like she wasn’t entirely alone after all.

It reminded her of her mother.

Her mother…

She moved to the left side, away from the moon, toward the wooden wall beneath her mattress.
All she could hear was the sharp crack of the wooden plate coming loose from the floor. She carefully lifted it and took out the most precious—and only—valuable thing she had.

She then moved back to her right, the familiar bluish moonlight falling across her face once again.
She held it up above her head and felt a sense of hope and happiness—something she rarely did.

An amulet, the fairest silver, shimmered lightly in the moonlight with a Beautiful green emerald-like stone in it.
It looked like something straight out of a fantasy manga she had once seen in a store, as if it truly belonged in such a world.
What a wonderful place it would be, she thought—living far away from all the bad and evil things here.

She carefully turned the amulet in the moonlight, feeling a gentle warmth radiate through her fingers.

She didn’t know much about her mother—almost nothing. She only knew that when she had arrived as a baby, this amulet had been on her.
She wondered how she had managed to keep it safe, without it being sold by some greedy adult.

Her thoughts wandered to what her mother might have looked like—if she, too, had white hair and greenish-grey eyes. How her hand might have felt, and whether she had loved her dearly.

If she was warm and funny or ,like her, more quiet and dreamy.

She held the amulet against her chest, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.