Page 6 of Savage Hope

Looking up at the dark clouds, I wish for something to happen. Anything. But it’s no surprise when nothing comes.

I rub my lips together, wrapping my arms around my legs as I pray for the world to fade around me, revealing its true self. I remember very little of any time before here, nothing of importance, but the sweet scent of flowers that dance in the meadow remains.

As soon as the old memory floods my body, my right hand dives into my blazer pocket, curling around the familiar coin that has become my lifeline in this place. I could draw a replica of the face etched into it with my eyes closed by now. It brings me peace and solace, even though I have no idea where it came from. Despite that, it’s my prized possession.

I wonder if the sun will shine tomorrow. It feels like forever since I’ve seen it. It would be nice, especially since tomorrowbrings the brightness of what should be an exciting birthday. My first step into my teens.

Thirteen.

Thirteen and alone, with no understanding, no answers, and nothing but the cold embrace this place continues to provide.

The only fun thing that comes with your birthday here is the extra hour you get to play outside with one other person. I only get to experience it on my birthday since no one else chooses me on theirs, but that extra hour is what I live for.

What else is there to live for?

I’ve fought, I've kicked, I've screamed, but it seems I'm now the product of my surroundings.

Glancing around the concrete playground, I spy the usual people. We’re all out here at the same time, from ages ten to eighteen. People have either formed friendships or claimed a spot on the asphalt for themselves. I’m the latter. I like to be alone so I can think and observe.

It’s always a wonder where the older kids are. They don’t need to kill us until we’re twenty-one after all, but no one knows where they go once they turn eighteen. They’re just not here anymore.

The teachers here are as nameless as we are.

I’m P. Just P.

That's all I've been since I woke up in that lonely bed almost three years ago. I don't know if it stands for anything—the P—I just know it serves its purpose in addressing me when required. I don't even know if I stand for anything.

All I know is I'm supposed to wither away here until the time comes when they can kill me.

Death.

Five little letters making one word that holds such power and I have no control over it.

Laughter comes from my right, pulling me from the darkness that claims my thoughts. I turn to where two girls are skipping rope. The sound of their joy swirls in my stomach, the same noise threatening to bubble out of me, but the heaviness that weighs on me quickly quells any levity I may have been on the verge of expressing and I see them for what they are.

They're only eleven. They don't know where they come from, just like me, but at least they can manage to find some joy here. It's more than I've ever been able to do. Maybe I let the darkness seep in too soon, maybe I let life ruin me before I really got a chance to live it, but I don't recall ever making a sound like that. I don't recall laughter. I don't recall anything but impending doom.

“Are you always going to sit there and just watch the world go by, P?”

Drawn to my left, I find a friend. No, not a friend, maybe a frenemy? Either way, she gives me her usual stare, with her hand on her hip, eyebrow cocked, and her eyes narrowed.

She’s S. Just S.

We’re the same age, and she arrived a few weeks after I did, I think. She still lives life like those eleven year olds, oblivious to the fact that everything we do is pointless.

In her eyes we should be full of life, full of laughter, and full of joy despite our circumstances. But why bother wasting such energy? We may be the same age, but my darkness is just a little bit older.

I refuse to see the world her way, she refuses to see it mine, and now here we are.

As she gives me one of her usual looks, I brace for the rest of the speech that usually comes with her statement. Every day we’re allowed thirty minutes to come outside.

She spends it gossiping and smiling at everyone and anyone, prancing from one group to another, while I claim my spot onthe asphalt and give off enough bad energy to ensure everyone else leaves me alone.

When it’s clear she’s not going to walk away until she’s gotten a response, I sigh. “I’m doing what I always do best, S: keeping this spot warm. What more do you want?” I turn my attention away from her, hoping she'll take the hint and go about her way.

Unfortunately, even if she does, there's not very far for her to go. This place is small. Really small. I can see all four corners of the playground from my small patch of concrete, despite everyone out here.

Apart from my room, which hasn't changed since the day I arrived, there is a small dining area for us to eat, where we aren’t given a single choice on what we would like. Outside, the four corners are filled with pieces of rope the girls are playing with, a battered ball for the boys, and a slab of asphalt beneath us.

---