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I do what he says and hit the man in the crotch. He shrieks in complete panic and wets himself as the blood begins to flow down his legs.
“Good. Seems pain is your only motivation,” my trainer says. “I’ll be sure to mention it when you’re sold.”
Sold.
I swallow.
The one word that should strike fear into any kid’s heart. But in mine, it only brings unbridled excitement.
Being sold means a new owner, a new task, and a new way to buy my life back. The only thing I’ve ever truly wanted since I was stolen off the streets is my freedom.
“Come,” my trainer barks, and I follow him out of the butcher’s room.
Walking down a bunch of hallways, we pass the one room I hate the most out of all the rooms in this building—the one with the electric chair.
Electricity is a kind of pain the body instills as a memory, and it keeps me from ever going up against the ones who took me and made me into what I am today.
I’ve felt that pain so many times I can’t count the number of times I begged them to stop.
When we pass it again, a weight lifts off my shoulder, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever again.
As long as I … obey.
We walk past more doors, some with screeching people behind it, but I pay no attention. We head into a hallway and down to another side of the building, where there is a giant hall filled with beds. Beds meant for kids like me.
There used to be a hundred. Now only ten of us are left.
“Sleep well. More training tomorrow. Be ready and be perfect. You’ll be sold tomorrow,” my trainer muses.
I gasp and turn to face him. “Tomorrow already?”
He shoves me forward, paying no attention to the hint of happiness on my face at the thought of getting out of this hellhole.
“Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning for a final training session.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply and go to my bunk bed.
But as soon as he’s out the door, I immediately move to the wall closest to my bed, fish one leftover knife from my pocket, and go to work on the wall. Some of my fellow bunkies wake up and stare at me, but I pay no attention to them as I pry out one of the stones.
A tiny dried-up flower is hidden inside, but I handle it with utmost care as I pull it out and stare at it like it’s a gift sent down from heaven.
Because this little piece of life after death reminds me that there is still hope every day.
Hope beyond these walls, beyond this life I’ve been thrusted into.
Hope … and a promise.
That one day, I’m going to find the one who gave this to me.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His voice is enough to bring chills to my spine.
