Journal Entry #1

Being an orphan sucks and at the same time I love it. No don't get me wrong, I don't like being an orphan, I like my family, well i guess they aren't really family but when you live with people for so long, you're family. I live in an orphanage with 15 boys, all 16 and under, me being the oldest. Xander is 7, he's the reason I stay here. Xander came to the orphanage about 3 years ago. I remember the day like it was yesterday.
The doorbell rang throughout the house, Mrs. Berger and I went to the front door to see who was there. Right as I got to the door a weeping child was being shoved through the entrance. Mrs. Berger approached the child and wrapped him in her arms. I stuck my head out the door to see if I could find the child's parents. They were long gone, from what I could see. On my way to the kitchen I glanced at the crying boy as I walked away. Just as everything was getting into a rhythm, a sobbing scrawny kid comes pushed through the door. Why does this always happen to me? "Blayze, could you set up another bed for the kid?" Mrs. Berger askes. "Only if he can sleep on the floor. We don't have anymore bedding." I reply flatly. "Just figure something out." she sighs while leaving the room. I make my way up the stairs, once I get into the bedroom I saunter over to the couch with some sheets and blankets and make the bed..ish... thing.
Once night falls and the younger kids are getting ready for bed, Mrs. Berger carries the little boy to the bed and tucks him in telling him to get me if he needs anything. I roll my eyes at her remarks and head down stairs. I settle down on the couch. A few minutes later Mrs. Berger comes down and sits on the couch across from me, "He hasn't talked at all." she says, breaking the silence. "So?", I reply. "Blayze Harroway" she hisses, "What is going on with you?". "Nothing....I just don't see why the kid is so sad. Every other kid has been fine by now and this kid won't even talk." I say, crossing my arms. "Just stop. You know better than anyone else here, what that little kid is going through. Don't judge him so quickly. And stop being so hypocritical. Do you remember when you first got here?" She retorts, hotly. I don't respond. I don't know what to say. I'm definitely not going to tell her she's right, although she maybe be. Just a little. I lay in my bed trying to still mad about what Mrs. Berger said but I'm not, she's right. All that I think about that night is the kid.