I loathe it here.
Twenty four hours after the day I turned fifteen I was unceremoniously shipped by rail (appropriately referred to as the Orphan Train) to the State Hospital of Saint Louis. Until that moment I'd quietly resided with the Sisters of Charity Orphan's Asylum in New York City, spending my days in prayer and devotion, generally consisting of tedious scrubbing and eternal dusting.
Now, the Asylum was no great treat; the food was bad, the rooms were horribly small, and it was full far past capacity with the orphaned and the indigent. New York City seemed to be full with nothing but.
State, on the other hand, is a brand new facility, though no less miserable. It holds the orphaned as well as the insane. I've been here two months now, and sometimes find it hard not to consider most of its residents in the latter category.
The hospital seems to be underfunded, and the girls here are desperate for any small way in which they can feel superior above each other. The guards are well known for encouraging this behavior in the older girls, gladly exchanging food, clothes, or trinkets for even small sexual favors.
As I sit by the big bay windows in the common room, Gypsi, one of the elder girls (at seventeen) is currently harassing Samuel Owens, one of the younger attendants as well as her favorite target.
"Samuel..." Gypsi croons, running her fingers through his unruly blond hair. He stands tall and will not look at her, but there is a slight blush on his cheeks. Gypsi seems to take his obvious embarrassment as an open invitation to get whatever she's after. Samuel is fairly tall, but thin and still boyish-looking despite being in his later twenties.
"No, Gypsi," he stammers, "Not today."
"But Sammy," she whispers pathetically, "I want to, and maybe...if I'm real nice...you could bring me some chocolates?"
Gypsi looks sidelong at him, her big, brown doe-eyes pleading mercilessly.
Samuel clears his throat, catching the attention of Louis Porter, the common ward's second attendant on duty today. Louis is no stranger to small favors, and gives a rakish grin in Owen's direction. Gypsi gives a beaming, triumphant smile and practically drags Samuel into one of the more private corners. They won't risk leaving the common area, but Dr. van Buren never checks in here. He's far too busy with the lunatics to bother with us.
I try not to look in the direction of Gypsi and Samuel, but curiosity and boredom easily get the better of me.
Samuel has his back to the room and occasionally one of Gypsi's tiny hands can be seen snaking through his hair or tugging at his shirtsleeves. Samuel makes a sudden shift, and Gypsi's legs become wrapped tightly around his waist, slender arms about his neck. Their sounds of passion are low and guttural; Gypsi's half-obscured face a mask of pure ecstasy.
