Gathering place of chosen ones

It was an unusually stormy day.
The skies were dark grey, with flashes of light coming and going.
The thunder played its usual boom song, and the wind tried once more to topple all that stands.
I woke up really early.
While humming something, I cooked breakfast, cleaned the praying room and double-checked some windows already.
There was but me, and 5 kids here.
Or at least, that was until I opened the main door, to check for milk and mail.
There laid a basket, in which a cute little angel of a girl was curiously looking at her surroundings.
“Another one…”
I sighed, as I picked her up and took her in.
The church I was taking care of was an ancient one.
Theoretically it was in my family for centuries, although I am not sure.
I am not a priest, but I’ve been sort-of a priest for the last 15 years, taking care of some spiritual and emotional problems in this old town.
Thus, this little church, was actually 4 stories tall, with plenty of room, a praying room (it could be called hall as well, but I like how room rings more), and most importantly with enough help from locals.
They were really respectful to us who lived in this church, and thus to me.
I don’t know why, but c’est la vie.
But worse is that…ever since I’ve taken over the church, I gathered…orphans?
At least I presume they are orphans, at least it’s better to tell the kids that, than to tell them: “Oh, you were left here in a fancy basket, no letter, but an awesome high-quality blanket.”
Which would indicate a getting rid of from the parents…so I go with the orphan thingy for the best of it.
It’s been roughly 1 every 3 years, although once it has been twins that were left in front of my door.
So, the oldest one is 15, a fiery red-headed girl, who despite being tomboyish, actually is quite motherly.
I don’t know how many times thugs have been beaten by her, whether they even dared to think about something shady or not.
Next were the twins 12, both girls with golden hair, they are geniuses, probably smarter than me and know more than me, despite the fact that I do love reading and studying as well.
The 4th was a 9 year old boy, with pitch-black hair, that I called little Ursa.
He was almost taller than me, but certainly stronger…
The 5th kid was a 6 year old boy, who was a genius at dismantling and constructing things…
He took apart our TV, computer and fridge…only took him 4 months to repair them.
And now, this little gem of a girl is the 6th one…probably blessed as well.
“Kids, a new sister arrived!”
I shouted, my voice echoing through the halls.
“Geezer! Would it hurt not to shout?
Your voice is so loud that in the morning and evening it is even more useful than the goddamn bell!”
Alema said, coming down with the twins behind her.
Then the two boys staggered down, looking quite sleepy.
“Look, a new-joiner, I will take her until she’s 3 years old, afterwards she will hopefully be able to join one of you in your little hobbies.”
I said, proudly showing the basket.
“She’s so cute!”
Alema shouted, taking the basket out of my hand.
The little girl was watching everyone with sparkling eyes, she even started to giggle.
“Not afraid even when surrounded by strangers…another prodigy …”
I murmured.
I am not stupid.
This little old town is weird.
Everyone knows stuff nobody should know…yeah, even me.
The woods outside the town aren’t normal, as I’ve already seen bears, but none that were 10 meters long and 6 meters tall.
And the bears aren’t leaving the forest.
So, I know these kids…
These kids are something special.
And maybe there will be more.
But that doesn’t matter.
I will do my best to teach them and raise them well.
Whatever their special quirks might be, they deserve a happy childhood, with bickering, laughter and cries as well.
And if someone tries to hurt them.
I chuckled.
“Good luck.”
I murmured.
“Agh, geezer! You are being weird again!”
Alema said, slapping my shoulder.
I laughed.
“Come, breakfast is ready.”
I said, leading the way.
This place…this place is a lot of things, but most importantly…I can call it home.

Published by omnithenerva

Wannabe fiction writer. In love with mythology, and fantasy themes.

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