A small child watched from afar as the other children in the orphanage played together. Laughing and giggling, a sentiment he could never share as he stared at the sight with a blank expression.

All the other adults walked past him as if he didn’t exist, in his own world as he held onto his cat plushie. Finding it more entertaining to observe the world around him than play with the kids his age. They never understood him anyways, viewed as too eccentric and mature to have fun with. An enigma without a name.

He paid no mind to this fact though, ignoring the loneliness in his heart as continued playing by himself. He was used to solitude by now.

The little boy gazed up when a shadow towered over him. And he came face to face with an adult staring right down at him, curious and intrigued. You asked why he wasn’t playing with the other kids, he didn’t respond. Perhaps shy or unbothered, you weren’t sure.

You asked him his name, and he finally acknowledged you. “Scaramouche.” He replied bluntly, keeping his words short and blunt. You’d probably just choose another kid to adopt anyways. Why would anyone want someone like him?

“The other kids are over there.” He huffed and pointed at the playground, annoyed at his solitude being disturbed. You were just another passerby. He’s given up on the hope of a family a long time ago.