Authors Note: This is a test. It is only a test. I wanted to see if I could dream up and write a story all in one day. Apparently, I can. :) And now I place it here for your enjoyment or derision. Whatever it takes. In case anyone's wondering, it all started when I got out of my car this morning and took a deep inhale of the moist Illinois day. Ahh spring.

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It's My Birthday, and It Smells Like Worms

Clenching her tongue between her lips in concentration, the young girl lowered herself from the window on the upper floor of the orphanage. Her small feet felt for the familiar narrow ledge that would provide enough surface to push off and onto the nearby fire steps. From there she easily descended to the ground and was free once again. Till lunchtime, anyhow, when her growling stomach would demand she return—this time through the garden window she'd easily jimmy with the crowbar she left hidden in a nearby shrub.

She stuck close to the side of the building until she reached the corner; then she dashed across the small, soggy side yard—grateful she'd thought at the last minute to put on her rubber boots—and to the street where she ran and splashed through puddles until the sight of her building was blocked by other buildings. She turned into her favorite alleyway and nosed around in the trash cans to see if anyone had thrown out anything good. Nothing today.

She replaced the last metal lid and leaned against the wall at the edge of the alley, looking out onto the town street from her protective cover. The rain had stopped, and the sky was a soft, pale grey. She took a deep inhale of freedom. It smelled like worms.

The scent, and the feel of the cool, moist air rolling over her face, triggered a foggy memory. Her parents had taken her to London on a weekend just like this. She remembered meandering with them across a vast, green expanse. There were gardens. And a palace. A long, wide, serpentine river flowed through the centre of it all. She remembered Peter Pan standing atop a bronze paradise of fairies and rabbits. It had been her birthday. At least that's how it had felt.

She knew her birthday must be in the springtime because by summer they'd always start telling her she was a year older than she thought she was. There were never any parties though, or balloons, or cake, so she wasn't sure of the exact day. Any time she asked, she was told the date was in a file somewhere and not to worry, someone else kept track of that sort of thing for her. Even still, she thought she'd like to know.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the other end of the alley, and she turned to see the silhouette of a hulking figure. She leapt behind the garbage cans and crouched down, hoping to go undetected by the large man, whose footsteps drew ever closer. The steady clip clop slowed as he approached the cans and then stopped. The girl didn't dare peek around, so she didn't note his clerical collar with its white square at his throat.

"All right?" he asked, and from his thick brogue, the girl could tell he wasn't from around there. She didn't say anything, hoping he'd decide that he'd been wrong about someone being back there. She didn't realize he could plainly see her spiky blond ponytail sticking up over the barrel's lid.

"You there, behind the trash bins, are you all right?" His stern voice was demanding now.

"I…that is to say…" she started and stopped. When she resumed, her voice was considerably, if not believably, deeper. "I'm very large, you see, and…and I'm quite fond of cutting things. Terrible things, like fingers and…spleens. So for your own safety, you ought to keep walking and pay no attention to the man behind the trash bins."

The priest smirked, and stepped to the opening of the alley to look up and down the sidewalk. He saw a smattering of people, but none of them appeared to be a parent waiting for their child.

"I'll go," he agreed. "But first I wonder, have you seen a wee lass around? With yellow hair tied up on her head?"

The girl let out a squeaking gasp, and then resumed her faux gruff tone. "I know of the scallywag, sir. A real rabble rouser that one. Always getting into fights. We suspect she steals things too. More trouble than she's worth...that's what everyone says."

"Do they really say that?" the priest asked doubtfully.

"It's what they're thinking."

The man was touched by the sadness evident even through the girl's bravado. "Oh, I'll bet she'll be proving them wrong one day. They'll see what a good girl she really is."

The warmth if his voice reached back behind the trash bin and wrapped around the girl.

"Today's her birthday," she blurted out of nowhere.

"Well then, all the more reason she shouldn't be on her own. And I'm sure she must be missing her mother."

He didn't want to frighten her, or push too hard, so he fell silent. While he waited, he could hear her fingers nervously drumming on the metal can. When she finally spoke it was in her natural voice, and it sounded so very tiny.

"She does miss her mother, sir."

"Perhaps...if you'll come out from behind there, we could look for her mother together."

The tapping stopped, but the girl didn't emerge. After a few moments, the priest broke the still silence of the alleyway.

"You're wise to be wary of strangers," he commended.

"Everyone I know is a stranger." The girl's false voice was back, and was tinged with anger.

The unexpected response gave the priest pause, and he wondered if perhaps the situation was more complicated than he initially thought.

"The only place you'll find her mother is in heaven," the girl explained.

Things began to click in the man's mind. He realized how close he was to the local orphanage, which he occasionally visited when traveling through the area. He hadn't planned a visit this time, but that could change.

"Her father too?" he asked.

She didn't answer, but he could see the spiky blond hair bobbing slowly up and down in confirmation.

"Well then," he murmured softly, "I suppose they'll have to wait a bit longer for the reunion. But…she will be wanting to see them again someday, yes? In heaven?"

"More than anything, sir."

"Then will you give her a message for me? Tell her she must learn to control her anger. Before she lashes out, she must first ask herself if her parents, looking down from the clouds, would approve of her actions. If she can learn to think of others before herself and to live in a way that is pleasing to our Savior—fighting only against evil and standing up for what is good—then some day she'll be with her parents again, when her time has come. Can you remember all of that?"

"I'll tell her, sir."

"Good. Remind her that she's never alone. There is a gift that resides in her to give her strength and guide her. All she has to do is trust it."

The spray of blond again bobbed up and down, more energetically than before."

"And will you also tell her that more rain is predicted so she should get herself back inside soon?"

"I will, sir."

"Very good. It was a pleasure talking with you. I can tell you're a wise and courageous person. I'm sure your parents are exceedingly proud of you."

He took deliberately loud steps out of the alleyway and stopped at a nearby stand to purchase a newspaper to hide behind. From there he watched the girl cautiously poke her head out from her shelter and then tear down the street toward the orphanage. With his longer stride it wasn't difficult to trail her. He had to stifle a laugh when he saw her take a crowbar from beneath the shrubbery and disappear around the corner, where he didn't doubt she pried open a low window.

She made it back inside in time to wash up and collect herself before going to lunch. When the mean boy snatched her dessert from her tray, and then the kitchen worker accused her of lying about it to get a second helping, the girl's characteristic anger swelled, and she began to turn red. The kitchen worker folded her arms and leaned back with an ugly grin, anticipating another tantrum, for which the girl would surely get relocated this time.

The girl saw the grin and paused. What would her parents think? The kitchen worker wasn't evil, neither was the boy. They were just mean...and fat. So this time she'd hold her temper. This time. She couldn't make any promises about what would happen next time, but she would do her best to make her parents proud.

Later that afternoon, she was called away from a game of jacks and led to the front of the building. A servant in a crisp grey dress was waiting for them and smiled when she looked at the girl. "Yep, ponytail fits the description. Somebody brought this for you."

She nodded at the box in her hands, and the girl peeked through the cellophane window on top to see a small, white, perfect cake.

"We don't normally accept treats from off the street," the woman explained, "but the man who brought this is no stranger to our orphanage."

The girl continued to stare wide-eyed at the cake for a moment before stammering, "Miss, wh-what's the date today?"

"April twenty-sixth."

The girl smiled. She finally had a birthday again.

The End