Chapter Text
If you were to ask him the color of his mother's eyes, he wouldn't know what to say, whether they were black or blue, but he could remember the color of her eyeshadow, painted a deep pink or pale as peach. They were thin, and he always saw a wound somewhere in them, bearing witness to a playful smile with a gray wave escaping from her sweet mouth. She was an angel of dark colors who knew how to give a kiss on the forehead. It was his last memory before the white light of a lamp fell upon his eyes, making him say her name for the last time.
"Hey, kid, can you hear me?" a doctor asks, shining the light into her eyes. "Kid, can you tell me your name?" she asks, now less reassured by his delayed response.
The boy pressed his lips into a thin line as he rubbed his eyes hard, clicking his lips as he refreshed his gaze, still full of sparks of light.
"My name is Theodore Grambell... yes, that's my name." He tries to smile, remembering how beautiful his smile was.
The response is a twisted mouth and a snort from the doctor who picks up her clipboard, looking at him with reproach and dissatisfaction.
"You could have been something great, kid," he murmurs after marking his name in blue and placing the large X over the boxes to be filled in. Then I ignore the four among the stamps prepared to mark a large 3 with red ink.
Theodore observes every movement with great curiosity, even when the doctor looked him in the eyes, lowering her black-framed glasses just a little.
-Welcome to your new temporary home, Mr. Grambell.
He really liked playing with sponges. It was where he could run, crawl, and jump without being stopped.
He felt much freer in these tunnels, ignored by the adults and out of reach of the caretakers. With a warm blanket draped over his shoulders, he could feel better and pretend that the man outside the play area hadn't expected him. The fun shattered its abstract charm when his feet got tangled as he fell from the play structure to the ground, bouncing on the mattress just like a couple of other children a few steps away.
He rolled onto his back without letting go of the blanket in his arms. When he looked up, he noticed the eyes of a little girl with messy blond hair, staring at him as if he were an ugly bug.
"You'd better leave that on your bed," she said, pointing at him and then trying to snatch it from his hands. "You'll hurt yourself if you carry that around, brat."
"No." He immediately rolls over and runs. He could be braver and face her, of course not, he flees with the blanket in his arms, pushing aside more than one of the children who get in his way. The run doesn't take him far because of the tunnels of mattresses and the large hands that catch him through one of the upper gaps.
-We told you "No more blanket" give me that, Theo. – she scolds him and soon they start struggling.
A child should be able to throw a tantrum, but what they can show as negative is the simple act of curling up into a trembling ball and keeping their treasure well hidden inside, because in the game of keeping it on their shoulders they would lose due to the undeniable superior strength of the caregiver.
Perhaps the struggle became too noisy even to be done by a strange child like him, causing a worker to pull the caregiver who was holding Theo away.
"It's lunchtime, let him go for today." She looks at the boy. "Let's go." She insists, not seeming interested in their argument.
"Well..." she sighed, pulling the blanket down once more, believing the child's distraction would work to her advantage, but of course, and again of course it didn't; the child remained entrenched in his tantrum like a crocodile. "Tomorrow you leave this thing on your bed or I'm going to burn it, do you understand?!"
Even though he hadn't even considered obeying, he still nods and smiles.
It seemed that wasn't what the caretaker wanted, letting him go with a frustrated look. He noticed it well; that displeasure was obvious. He immediately ran anywhere but there, leaving the adults and the playhouse behind.
The garden outside glows green and haughty light shakes it as it has emerged from the darkness.
Some children were walking to class holding hands with that… “Teacher”
"Come on, children, can anyone tell our friend Huggy Wuggy how many letters are in his name?" asked the sweet voice, referring to the big blue giant who swayed his body slowly from side to side. Sometimes he seemed to be following the distant melodies from the factory.
-He has three!-
"No, teacher, give him a zero, it's twelve," a boy argues, shaking the teacher's skirt.
"There are ten," Theo interrupts, having the answer on his lips.
The teacher finally turns around and that huge smile she had plastered on her plastic face grows.
"That's right, thank you for telling us all, you're a very clever boy!!" she exclaims, shaking her hands excitedly. "I'm sure Huggy Wuggy appreciates your answer, right, Huggy?"
Theo received his answer in the form of a hug from this blue creature. It was soft and warm like a person, and that's when he welcomed the hug.
The plastic teacher observes the hug and takes the nearest girl into her arms to fill the void she seemed to feel; at least the girl received the change in height with a smile.
"Why don't you come with us? We were on our way to my sister's class; she loves painting."
She didn't like school, but hearing about painting made her follow them in order to meet her favorite teacher.
That teacher walks around the room with a box of crayons in her hands, pointing to the ceiling while giving some impromptu speech.
"The color of your eyes can change depending on the light; that's what we call color theory! Don't try to explain it, just use it to your advantage in your drawings." She looks over a child's head. "Chicks have lots of very fine feathers. Try adding more color with the other yellow, and it will look very realistic."
-Teacher, have you ever seen a real chick?-
The teacher turned around smiling; she knew it wasn't her normal face because of the slanted corners of her eyes.
-Never, so your chick will be the first one I meet.-
The children seemed more animated by the teacher. This was all the more noticeable when there was an abrupt interruption, caused by a girl who had run in front of everyone and, without looking at them, carried a bunch of chalk from the blackboard in her arms.
"You shouldn't steal," a little boy tells him.
The girl smiles at them and sticks out her tongue before running outside, letting them see the colorful tail she had tied to her pants.
Even Theo didn't expect to see such a thing.
Nobody here was older than five or taller than one meter, leaving their shoulders and heads sticking out like pureed peas, a strange but long-standing common eating combination.
"Don't worry if you can't make its beak, your fingers aren't fully formed yet, relax."
The bird on its leaf ceases to attract attention because of the plaintive murmur of a girl, scratching her colors on the leaf.
"I don't like it... I don't like how it looks, no..." she complains nervously.
"But... but I already told you it's normal that you can't do it... Why aren't you listening to me?" He looks at the sheet of paper tearing in the girl's hands. "I don't like it when you make so much noise..." She lets out a strange little squeal, laughing anxiously between her teeth. "Why don't you do something else?" she asks, trembling in place.
"Because I don't want to," the little girl sobbed. "I want to make a chick, not something else..."
The teacher seems overwhelmed by the girl's whimper, dropping the box of colors; distracted by the unexpected predicament, she bends down to pick up her colors.
Theo leans to one side, peeking out, watching the teacher not gather the crayons but rub them against the floor as if they were pebbles in the sand, breaking some under her palms. That enormous smile seemed to be turning into a painful grimace. A sudden impulse made him stand up and go to the girl's side.
"Would you like some help, teacher?" he asks, lifting the nearest child with one arm. The child understands and stops just looking to quickly pick up the crayons and the box. "Let me help you. Do you want it to be yellow or blue?" he asks the girl, taking her hand by the back.
"Are there any blue chicks?" the girl asks, looking at him sideways.
"If you want them, they'll open them, right?" he replies, smiling. "I made mine black."
-And why black?-
-Because I like it a lot.-
The teacher stood in the center of the room, carrying that box in her hands, and that bright smile felt heavy to the eye.
The art class isn't too long, but as they leave, many of the children look tired, bumping into each other in the line the teacher leads to the next room, the nap room with its few beds, where Miss Deligt greets them at the door. She's much more cheerful, clapping even though it wakes the children up.
-Hello my children, let's rest. Who will win the bed with the warmest blanket?- she encourages them, taking the hand of the nearest child to lead him inside along with the line.
Theo stays on the teacher's back, watching as they are taken to sleep as if it were the start of a fun sport.
His teacher decides to leave after waving goodbye, letting him go ahead to shield him from the cameras.
"Sister, the little one is still missing!" Miss Deligt called to her.
-He's older, he'll take his nap with the other children his age.-
-He needs to take his nap; he even brought his blanket.-
-…but he's with me.- the teacher insists, moving her hands on her waist.
Theo sighed.
Their expressions remain unchanged, they cannot, but their slow breathing seems to lose its rhythm. The complication of a common protocol seems to leave Miss Delight in a bind, glancing around in what appears to be an anxious act.
"I think the principal can tell us where the child should go," she tells her teacher.
"No, we're fine," Theo interrupts, walking away quickly.
The teacher follows him, looking at her sister with the same mortification.
Are the new games fun?
"They're the same, they just brought a duck float," he murmurs, squashing the pencil shavings on the paper, creating a background similar to the gray sky he remembered.
-I should have had them draw ducks.-
-Does your mouth still hurt?-
-I don't feel it anymore, I think I got used to it.-
There wasn't much to talk about with his teacher, but there was a way to get away from the adults when he stayed in the art room, painting whatever while the teacher made some colorful clay figures in a corner.
He was having fun in his own way with the pencils, forming that dog he liked to imagine…or remember.
-I like you a lot.-
Look at the teacher who is watching him with those huge, lively eyes, tilting her face to one side.
"Thank you," she smiled reflexively. "Your hair is beautiful." She returned to her sheet of paper. That black and brown dog barely resembled her memories; it was only missing a chain and a spiked collar.
His table tilted under the extra weight, making him hold his colors with outstretched arms.
"It was better before... it was black... just the way you like it," the teacher says to her face, and those blue eyes fix on her pale face.
She feels a strange chill run down her shoulders when the teacher rests that forehead against her face.
"I love you, baby," she murmurs, reaching out to touch him, her mouth opening very slowly. This sends the blonde teacher into a state of ecstasy, tugging at the boy's shirt, delighted by the pink skin revealed over the shoulder she has so lightly undressed. For the first time, her feelings align with her expression, producing a trickle of saliva like the tears she had longed to shed.
The child in their custody does not seem able to speak, although he tries very quietly.
"What's happening?" he asked, unable to move, surprised by the sensations that made his hair stand on end. Wondering if this feeling was fear or excitement, it was strange and wouldn't let him move.
Something was happening and I didn't understand it.
Whatever was going to happen didn't, shaken by a surprising sound from the walls.
The teacher steps aside, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, and looks around curiously.
"What was that?" she murmurs nervously, remembering the boy, but when she looks in his direction she only finds the crow on the sheet of paper and the open door that is still moving.
The sun is still shining, or at least that's what the lit lights are supposed to mean.
His shirt was already stretched out, falling off one side of his shoulders.
-Theo, rejoin your group!-
He didn't even stop to look at which of the caretakers had called him, seeing himself running with every intention of entering the Play House out of reach of clumsy adults who can't use the tunnels without bumping their ugly faces into the padding.
Or at least that's what it should be able to do.
It is a child who reaches it.
That first encounter was insignificant, just a fraction of a second to see some freckles scattered under the large eyes that resembled pieces of a picture of nuts, so brown that they seemed to grate the purest of reds.
The feeling of being caught in that triumphant gaze makes him stop, and all he can do is push the boy away. The boy smiles even more broadly than before as he takes his hand and clasps their fingers together in a knot that makes him tremble with every nerve in his body, shaken by the boy's cold hands.
-Would you like to dance?
He hears that child's voice and his head fills with so many voices demanding a reaction. Well. He rolls hand in hand with this child who shakes him and spins him around to his rhythm, like a disjointed waltz.
He manages to break free only because I don't hesitate to kick him and run once he made him fall to the ground.
Offstage, the caretaker of block 2 observes the affront of both children.
"Why are you sending another child?" Theo's caretaker asks another employee.
"I trust he'll bring it," the nanny from block 4 boasts, pointing to her face with her thumb. "That's what people who actually do their job do."
"Nonsense, Missi, grab the tall child!" she yells at the pink creature at the door of sweet home.
He doesn't hear any more as he manages to dodge Kissy and her cottony hands that barely seem to intend to grab him, and lets him go with a smile.
Then that brat coming behind him seems to gather strength to scream.
"Hi, Kissy!" the boy exclaimed, jumping up and giving her a high five while still following him. The giant pink giant barely managed to straighten up to wave goodbye to them both.
"Kid, they're calling you!" he shouts, about to grab him.
Overwhelmed by emotions and the shame of having been toyed with a second ago, Theo explodes, turning around and punching him directly in the face, resuming his run after leaving him on the ground and bleeding to the horror of the nearby caretakers.
"That's enough, you spoiled brat! Come here now or your rudeness will have consequences!"
He never considered turning back; in fact, he thought the whole thing was unfair. He just wanted to be alone, not with these people, so many children, noise, or shouting. He hated the shouting.
He entered the game without looking back, nothing at all crossed his mind as he crawled through the tunnels to an intersection that he knew was almost impossible for an adult to enter, wrapping himself in the blanket up to his head to let himself fall sideways into the soft space that would make him feel safe.
The warmth in her ball of blankets was comfortable. Just staying there and closing her eyes with her hands tightly covering her ears.
"Do you like this place?" "Me too, but you know what? I haven't seen you before. Which block are you from?"
Her body presses itself against the wall, muttering a complaint from her severely frayed nerves. Curled up, she ignores the child approaching for the sponge.
-I love you.-
His head peeks out to look at that child suspected of having a mental disability.
The smile she receives is… brilliant.
"I made you come out," he laughs, leaning back on the other side of the tunnel. "I made you come out of your cave, Theodore," he points at him with that smile.
"Shut up." He looks at the ground. "I made you bleed, so I win." He draws his legs up even more when he notices that this boy was about to touch his feet.
His gaze rises to her face and that smile doesn't go away.
"If you think that's winning, fine by me." She puts her hands to her head, mimicking her position under the sheet. "Why your blanket?" she asks.
"What's it to you?" he grumbles back from under his famous blanket.
The brown-haired boy approaches, showing a stuffed animal in his hand. It didn't seem to be one of the ones that were in the house; it was old and looked dirty, a creature resembling a goblin with spiky purple hair.
"My mom gave it to me, I hide it here." She showed how the hideous toy was easily concealed in her tangled hair by wrapping it around the back of her neck.
"I thought that thing was important, but I see it's one of those 'sweet home' things. Why are you carrying it then?"
"It smells good," she whispers, looking down.
- Really? What does it smell like? - he asks, approaching.
The boy doesn't seem so bad, and the blood on his face makes him feel guilty. Cornered by his doubts, he ends up allowing him to come closer and smell a corner of the blanket.
"Huh... Ugh!!" He turned away after taking a single sniff, his face turning pale with disgust, coughing until he shook himself and doubled over. "It smells delicious..." he forcedly said, giving a thumbs-up with a trembling smile that seemed to carry a lot of suffering. "Exquisite, brother." He finished, returning to his place looking as if he'd gained years of life and lost a significant amount of weight.
"You're a liar," he growls, curling back into a ball with only his eyes peeking out through a slit.
"That's not true, I'm not a bad liar," he protested softly, still shaken from the earlier jolt. "Why do you like that smell?"
-It's like my mom's.- He looks at the end of the tunnel and sees a blond boy who looks at them scared before backing away when he sees his frown.
"That's great... I say 'exquisite' with respect," he clarifies, looking away.
"Can you make fun of me now?" he accuses suspiciously.
The boy looks indifferent, reluctant to pay any attention to the sharp-witted, blue-eyed boy.
"I miss my mom so much too... I want to go back to her," he says, moving closer to the older boy, oblivious to the warning signs that should have alerted him to the boy's distress. "I want to go home," he shares, putting his arms around Theo's shoulders and resting his chin on his tousled hair. "You just need to rest. I know you'll be able to play again later." He moves away to look him straight in the eye and allows himself a playful smile at the pouty expression and cheeks puffed out with the shared childish anger. Venturing into a loving gesture he remembers as good for healing sadness and anger, he gently bites Theo's crimson cheek, pressing his lips against the skin with a happy expression.
For the older boy, it was the warmth of the touch that made him blush suddenly, clutching those confusing sensations tightly in his fists. An electric current in his palms, rising up his arms to his stomach, was a tangled mess that ignited like gunpowder, coloring his face, neck, and ears. Instead of fleeing or pushing him away, he remained impassive, watching the boy until he let him go, leaving his cheek red and a trail of saliva between their faces.
The boy wipes it with his sleeve.
"You're not angry anymore," he exclaims victoriously upon seeing that face transformed into a fine display of cherries.
The response is very slow; it took as long as that child's heart to settle again.
"Do you miss her?" he asked, lowering his face, noticing that the lights had gone out. It was dark, and he knew something was wrong with the boy who now stood beside him with a flashlight he pulled from his pocket much faster than he could see it. "You're afraid of the dark," he whispered, recognizing that ambiguity he didn't understand in some children.
"A lot..." the boy replies, shielding the flashlight's beam in his hand, fearing the light would betray his hiding place from the caretakers. "Always... ever since I got here... I want to go back to my mom," he admits, staring at the tunnel. "I know how to get out of here, that's why I'm doing what she told me to do it." He seems convinced of it.
Theo immediately became alert, turning around abruptly to corner him with his weight.
"What did he say to you?" he asks, showing his anger with a huff.
The boy seems surprised but soon decides to respond to his humor with a smile.
"I must be obedient and get adopted; only then will I be able to leave here and see her again." He sighs as if a race awaits him. "What did she say to you?" he asks, cupping his cheeks in both hands.
Theo observes, analyzes what he heard, and returns to his place with the blanket over his shoulders.
He had believed his father was talking to this boy, suddenly feeling abandoned, and frightened by the thought of being replaced, he almost betrayed their secret. This boy's manner was the same one he had abandoned after one of those visitors had looked at him so unkindly. It had been his smile that had driven the visitor away, leaving him alone as soon as the couple left the room where they had taken him to talk. A confusing and painful memory that made him groan in frustration, struggling to understand the mistake in his actions or how that day had come about.
Suddenly everything around her was more difficult, and she could barely tell if it was her fault or just something she didn't understand.
He glanced at the boy and the oatmeal cookie he'd pulled from his pocket, noticing that beautiful smile with crooked teeth and fangs, warm skin, and those big, dark eyes. He was like a bird. So it was true that people are like animals, and this little rascal was one of the pretty ones, even wanting to feed him with the half-eaten cookie that was practically just a crumb in his hand.
"Here, I'll give you half," he offers with that smile that never seems to leave him.
Her hand reaches out and the broken cookie falls into her palm, bringing it to her lips under the child's gaze.
"I don't think they'll adopt us... or maybe they will adopt you," she muttered once she swallowed the crumbs.
He doesn't see the child eating and suspects that the crumbs on his pants are what must have been the other half.
"You're tall and strong, I'm sure you'll be going home in a few days," he reminds him, touching his bruised nose. The blood was finally drying, but the pressure made it drip again.
"It hasn't been like this for months," she complains, letting out that bad feeling inside. "People don't like me."
"Can you call yourselves people? I like you. I think you should get your eyes fixed because you look like a very nice man, Pedro."
"My name is Theodore," he corrects, frowning.
-I'm sorry, it's just that if you get bitter you're like the grandfather of machines.-
"That's not true!" he exclaims, pushing him with his bare foot.
The boy falls and laughs, grabbing his leg with his arms. He has to struggle to break free, clinging to the wall to kick him, but only manages to fall backward from the pull. Soon the effort is enough to make him laugh in frustration from exhaustion.
The child takes advantage of the position to climb on top of his body, trapping his hands above his head, and continues laughing just like the older man.
"Do you feel comfortable there?" he asks without fighting for control; it was easy to get rid of him, and he can think that way for now.
"Yes, I like it," the boy confesses, abandoning his smile. "I think you scare me," he adds, observing him.
It was a strange throbbing in his heart that made him feel trembling, looking at this older boy with a shudder running down his spine, a sensation that could be compatible with the memory of the snake he once found in his boots.
Theo expected that, but not that the boy seemed to be anything but scared, clutching his wrists with such a serious face.
"It doesn't seem like it," she says, moving her legs.
I couldn't. I couldn't get out of his grip.
"Hey..." he murmurs, noticing that serious face. "What are you looking at?"
He couldn't know what the child was feeling or thinking; he only knew it wasn't something he understood. Even the silence reminded him of his struggle as he kicked and thrashed once more, achieving the same nothingness. It didn't seem like it, but this child was strong, terrifying in a way he didn't understand. He resented the touch and had to smile reflexively, drawing the child's attention to his face and not his neck.
It is a whistle that makes that blank face recover with a shake of the head and his immediate release. Contrary to his previous desire to flee, he stays close to the child so as not to miss the change in his attitude.
Rubbing his ears hard and his color fading like wax, he seemed quite tired all of a sudden.
"I think I should go back now," he says, stopping rubbing his head. "Don't worry, I won't tell them where you are, but don't let your guard down," she advises, waving goodbye quickly. "Goodbye, Theodore, you're amazing."
That last thought could have been her own mind after seeing him disappear as he had crawled in, or it really was the child's farewell, letting herself be answered with anxious haste.
-You too… -
He wasn't a turkey, nor did he ever plan to be one, but right now he thought about one left alone in the oven after everything's been done to it, not knowing if it will be of any use or if it will be thrown away whole. He didn't quite understand why the image came to him when he saw himself alone; he just thought about it and assumed that's what it felt like to be a turkey.
You can see it leap away through the nearest crack; it seemed to carry the very life force of the small space with it, and with its departure you can enjoy the darkness and solitude… at least for the first three minutes.
He hears the forced sound of dress shoes on the sponge; it's getting closer, and he must move before they find him.
He managed to spend that night at Play House, finally resting, huddled in a corner with the duck figure shielding him from any guard. The time of day meant the pipes were still noisy, surrounded by the murmurs of various pipes hidden behind the walls and the waves of the pool, which was shaken by the machine that cleaned it with a buzzing sound.
The grille lets in a warm breeze; you can lean against it to feel better.
Without him noticing, a quartet of metal instruments emerges through the cracks, catching the sheet at its corners and revealing the child.
"You were playing around," he declared in a serious, masculine voice.
Drowsiness leaves him, hurrying to wrap his arms around those claws, the blanket between them avoiding the edge, rubbing his forehead on what would be the knuckles of the large claw.
"Hello," he greets, stepping into the heat.
The claws moved, carefully tightening their body, like caterpillars inside a cocoon; it was comfortable.
"You look tired, Theodore," he says, barely moving his claw enough to be a caress.
"I'm tired," he replies, holding on tighter. "Can I go with you today?" he asks softly.
No, you'll have to wait.
"Fine, Dad," he mutters resentfully.
The caresses continued, but the tone and the male voice changed to that of a whining girl.
"I'm not your father," he retorted with a tantrum.
"You are," he corrects.
"No, I told you, I'm your friend," he refuses, clarifying in a youthful, masculine voice, "Was your day fun?"
Theo shakes his head in denial.
"They followed me the whole time, and the teacher is acting strange again... I don't think she can help us."
-You're right... Don't you like it anymore?
-I like her, she's fun.
-And what about that child?
"Do you like him, Dad? I shouldn't, he's a stupid brat."
"Making friends is the right path, Theodore. I'll only like that kid as long as you like him, otherwise, what a disheveled brat."
She should laugh even with her face buried in the blanket.
"Go comb your hair! Didn't you think of that?" he continued in that same reproachful tone and that manly voice with squeaky tones.
Theo starts laughing happily.
-Do you want to talk about your path to me?
-Yes… um… left, left and down, right-
"Two down, Theodore," she corrects him, shaking her claws. "Come on, it's like eating toast," she reminds him of that example in a feminine voice.
"Yes..." he nods and laughs, touching the exposed metal he can reach. "Left, left, down twice, right and down."
"It's upstairs, kid. You look like you've never had toast before," she says, sounding like a whiny girl. "Remember, you have to do it when the kids who aren't in your group are doing it. That way, they won't see you're missing."
Theo spent the rest of the night sleeping in the arms of the man he considered his father.
It was a good rest.
At some point he realizes he is hungry, he must leave that corner to go eat, he takes the blanket with him because his friend was no longer there when the lights were turned on.
A babysitter greets him as he walks, responding with a dazed look, still lost in his reverie. He might manage to get to the dining room on his own, but going to the table and eating was an unconscious action. He's jolted back to reality when he knocks over Huggy's glass containing the drink; the liquid spills across the table with considerable force, splattering onto the clothes of some children who are crying or laughing, or at least were laughing.
"I knew you couldn't stay away without bothering someone!"
Memory loss wasn't new, nor was reacting only after he'd already moved around or been in motion for a considerable amount of time, but waking up with a glass of milk spilled on his table... no, that had happened before and it was a nuisance.
"Shut up already." She had to cover her ears with her fists to block out the caretaker's shouts. She didn't understand why he was always near him; she hated him. He was so loud and unpleasant. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't see him. She could hear him moaning as he wiped the table with a cloth. He was too violent.
It took him several minutes to uncover his ears and look at his empty space, without the plate or glass, without food, just the clean table and some children looking at him curiously or confused.
"That man hates you," says a little girl beside her. "I drew you a picture." She holds out a piece of toast, revealing a painting made of jelly, cream, and bits of egg yolk, forming a distorted dawn landscape.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she smiled, and it was clear she was proud of her work.
-Yes. - she smiles, taking the bread from his hands.
The girl keeps smiling until she sees him eat it in two bites.
"Don't eat it, it was meant for you to save!" she exclaimed, waving her arms. "If I paint the wall, would you eat it?"
"If you do it, maybe." He touched her hair; those pigtails in her neatly styled hair looked very pretty.
"Aha!" she exclaims angrily, and offended, she withdraws, her face turning red.
Something about the girl seemed familiar, something about her was known… or rather, nothing was. He didn't know this girl. He didn't know any of them, really.
There seemed to be a lot of children, very different from his usual group. Surely this was what his friend had been talking about. Was this the right time to go after him? He needed to think it over, but he was already on his way to the Play House, with his blanket over his shoulder.
He must stop when his path is obstructed by a blond-haired child.
-Hey, tall one, do you want to play?- this kid asks and has already kicked the ball at his feet.
Theo stops it with his heel and kicks back.
The boy repeats the movement more firmly, and Theo does the same, slowly drawing him into the game and chase that unfolds without him even realizing it. The game continues to escalate, and soon, very soon, he feels restless, running with the other children and chasing them as they try to get the ball.
Listening to his heart pounding in his eardrums with a pleasant buzz, he received a couple of shoves and gave them back, laughing at the fall of some too shaky to resist.
I didn't know when, but he ended up playing with everyone until more than one of them was reduced to a panting mound on the synthetic turf.
That child still sees him in the square playing with another girl who pushes him and runs away mocking him with joyful shouts.
"I like your eyes, they're very unusual."
He looks at another boy beside him, as tall as himself but his messy hair makes him look taller.
"They're normal," he replies, touching his face. "You're the weird one, you're fat."
"I'm strong, not fat," he defends himself, revealing a flat stomach, but something about this boy, just like with the blond boy and the girl from this morning, arouses suspicion. "I'm stronger than you," he assures him. "I just noticed your eyes have a purplish tint, and that's statistically unusual. You could even be albino, and they eat them in Africa."
Her head tilts, resting it on her hand.
"You're smart, but I wasn't born in Africa."
-I know... you must be of European origin, right?-
"I... I think..." He closes his eyes, thinking. "I don't remember, you're probably right." He has to give up and watches as his lack of interest in arguing makes this kid excited and smile, puffing himself up like a balloon full of ego.
"I knew it!" she exclaims, turning around. "Shall I carry you?" she offers, smiling with outstretched arms.
"You couldn't," she warns him, clinging to the polyester grass.
The child responds by suddenly approaching and lifting him into his arms.
"Yes, I can, yes, I can!! See!" she seems to celebrate while doing a shaky spin.
"Put me down, put me down now..." he manages to complain about the hug, which is quite strong; he has to hold onto the child's shoulders as he feels the vertigo of being out of control.
-You have to put him down; if he doesn't want to get in, you can't carry him.
The older boy lets go, looking worried about getting into trouble with what sounded like another kid. Theo still couldn't control his balance after being let go so suddenly, falling uncontrollably on his back to the ground.
"I've got you!" exclaims the boy he met in the tunnels, though "got him" meant falling next to him with his weight on top of him. They both gasped at the fall and the shared pain.
"I'm sorry, guys, I'm sorry." The older one apologized immediately, his face turning pale.
Theo is fine and the laughter that started from the child seems to confirm his own well-being.
"You're annoying, man," she says, closing her arms around his waist instead of letting him stand up.
"I'm sorry, Dog," the burly boy apologized again.
"I'm fine," he replies, burying his face in Theo's side. "Are you okay, Theodore?" he asks him in that position.
"I'm fine," she says, looking at the child at her waist.
-I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your permission.
"It doesn't matter," she smiled at the child.
Calm returns to that face and she nods, rubbing her hands on her stomach.
"Dog!" exclaimed a little girl who came towards them.
"I'm fine," she finally tells the girl, letting go of Theo. "We fell, Bobby, it's nothing serious," she reassures her, waving her hands.
That girl simply took the signal as the moment to indulge herself by hugging the boy by the shoulders and staying there in silence.
"Crafty's making a bigger tic-tac-toe game in the yard, why don't we go?" she invites them, holding the little girl around her neck. "Come on, Theo, let's play."
His gaze goes from this child to each one, and that anxiety inside him returns when he feels observed even by the blond boy and the girl who came with him.
"Okay," she nods, following them to the plaza where a girl was waiting with an older group.
●┬├┴├ᕕ⋋⋌ᕗ┬├┴├●
The Velcro curtains are drawn back to reveal the slogan “PLAY TIME co.” facing the workers' table and their tired faces. At least twelve people take seats around a stack of freshly printed black and white documents.
"I don't think the boss will come."
Some employees glance at the worker in a white coat.
"Why do you say that?" asks a woman in a blue uniform.
"He's been absent the last few days," complains a man in a suit with a sour expression from his seat.
"I'm not very interested," grumbles an engineer, who, like the woman, stands out because of his blue uniform.
Someone needs another demotion.
"My rank is no lower than yours, you idiot."
"You shouldn't express yourself like that in this place."
"I'm fed up with him. This bald worm behaves like this with us and the children, just because your wife—"
"Don't drag my wife into this, you visionless failure."
"You failure!!" he shouts, getting up from the table. "Better than being a sicko like you and Laura!"
"Sit down, Henry," interrupts an assistant who has just entered.
Each employee returns to their place with a few huffs and a muttered grumble of resentment.
The secretary can no longer bear this silent tension, interrupting him with an awkward smile.
"He loves these meetings; he won't miss it just because it's his birthday." He looks at each of them, waiting for them to follow along, visibly sweating from the group's delayed response. "Colleagues." He feels the urge to sink into his seat and die, but can only manage a manic grin when the grumpy engineer replies.
Although it turns out to be a complaint.
-I hope it doesn't take so long this time, I want to go home-
"What are you talking about? This is your house."
The door was opened by a cold-looking assistant, but the one who answered the engineer was a friendly-looking man, his gray hair shining in the yellow office lights, his party-style suit making him look like he was at the entrance of a cocktail party.
"I'm sure there's nothing better outside than the delicious drinks that our, blessed be he, partner Henry, designed have been a sales success! You're so eager to show off to your family, aren't you?" He not only flatters him and goes towards him, but with certain firmness he grabs him by the shoulders, his smile obscured by the position of the lamp on the table.
The figure of the man could be compared to a vulture clinging to the branches of a dying tree, exhaling a breath that is felt as death upon the dying.
"Yes, I'm anxious," he replies after taking a deep breath. "What do you say we end this meeting so I can go show off at a bar where I can die of alcohol poisoning between two bodybuilders?" he mutters his complaint, knowing the bald man's phobia, and can let the satisfaction sink in as his shoulders are repeatedly patted and he hears his deranged boss laughing his head off at the misery on the faces of more than one of his employees.
"Oh no, you've made my day." He heads to his seat at the head of the table. "Bodybuilders..." He looks at the engineer as if he were not only a scrawny employee but also one of his stunt monkeys on pause, all with a smile on his lips.
The man in the suit with the sour face interrupts his fun with a report that is being played on the projector.
Specimen 188 has overcome the language barrier; after questioning, it was discovered that it understands more than one language.
The engineer watches the creature writhe on the operating table, his gaze wandering among the people in the room.
The meeting continues with samples from different experiments, including elements in initial processes.
-DogDay in the living room, have you needed your glasses again, little one?-
"Didn't they delete the audio from this VHS?" the boss asks from the head of the table, his jaw resting on the back of his hands. "You know the rules, miss," he emphasizes to the doctor.
Of course, the worker in the blue uniform defended herself before the doctor could do anything more than glare at her with furious reproach.
"I'm afraid there may have been an error in production, but don't worry, the audio recordings will be deleted immediately after the meeting. You can count on it, sir."
-The base element of prototype 1-0-0-6 is diluted directly onto the ocular nerves in preparation for implants, testing the composite base for potential exposure.-
People's attention was drawn to the split images, the full scene, and the expanded close-up of the dilated pupil. The metal needle entered the image from the side of the close-up, piercing the retina directly into the depths that turned red, diluting the purplish-red color of the fluid within the eyeball, with a wave of crimson color within the sclera, disappearing into the bloodstream inside the child's eye.
"We'll put this on you for a few hours," he tells him, showing him an eye patch. "You'll look like a fearsome pirate!" he jokes, his tone far too fake, as he places the patch over his eye.
Observe the signs, proceed to dispose of the syringe in the sample bin, and move away from your patient to a precautionary distance marked by a yellow color around the chair.
Waiting for some secret negative effect on the child in the seat.
But the signs accelerate their calm rhythm for a few seconds, highlighting how the child loses consciousness and his body falls languidly.
"I imagine our dear colleague didn't end the life of our future guardian, did she, Laura?"
The doctor neither denied nor confirmed it, remaining firm in her place.
The doctor in a white coat moved around a well-lit room, covered in white except for a single greenish light source, without changing his demeanor in response to the child's condition. His calm seemed to be rewarded by the child's reaction, who, from his spot, glanced as far as possible toward the center, then stared at the ceiling with a furrowed brow.
"It's hot..." he murmurs through the metal pressing against his face.
His head is trapped in metal, literally trapped, unable to move or even glance to the sides of his field of vision. Only a yellow light catches his attention on a blank screen, blinking unexpectedly with his single uncovered eye.
The test continued with the final step.
"Can you hear?" the doctor asks him.
The boy closed his eyes and still couldn't hear. There was nothing to hear, but since it was unknown to DogDay, this fact was advantageous for the doctors.
"No, there's nothing," he denied, frustrated by the lack of the signal he was supposed to hear.
"There's a countdown, Dog Day," she reminds him with certainty. "I see we'll have to fix your ears as well."
The child glances sideways at the doctor as his movement remains restricted.
"What's my name?" he asks, turning his attention away from the leaves. "Could you please remind me?" he whispers.
The doctor doesn't take long to reply.
-Your name is DogDay, don't you remember?
The boy looks at the ceiling again.
My friend asked my name… and I'm embarrassed to tell him I'm unlucky.
A voice answers from some hidden speaker.
"DogDay, you're not unlucky, you're the happiest day of all the children. Isn't the name of a leader what brings happiness?" he reminds him with friendly cheers.
-…I can't remember my name… - she tries to continue with her request but her energy has already been drained.
The doctor grasped the safety mechanism of the machine on his face, pressing the button that would release it.
"No, this is your name, why do you forget it? Don't all your friends love it?" he repeats, already annoyed by her.
The child is freed from the metal with a metallic sound, freeing himself from his restraint under the table.
"Thank you," she exclaimed loudly, addressing the doctor's voice.
This woman nods without looking at him.
The boy takes a sweet from the metal cabinet next to the table, waving goodbye as the door is opened by the caregiver who will take him back to Sweet Home.
The doors slammed shut, enough to make the doctor collapse, her notes in her lap. Her hands trembled as if she were about to die of hypothermia, the ink from the broken pen draining away part of her sanity.
"I'm tired," she declares, closing her eyes tightly. Her pale face turns red as tears gather in the corners.
Before she knew it, the door had already opened to the entrance of an old man, watching her like a stray dog.
"Let's ignore Laura's nervous breakdown, we know that with her biology it's normal to have some trouble concentrating, so, dear?" the same woman asks.
The blonde's response is to purse her lips for a millisecond before showing the next VHS tape.
"How long do you think it will take for the specimen to adapt to the compound?" the scientist coldly inquired at the table.
He presented his notes with a frown.
-The adaptation is viable; at the latest, within ninety days, he could take the lead for a few months over his entire group; it's perfect within the parameters of the base objective.-
-It's nice to receive one good news story after another, don't you think?
-Sir, regarding the project for the new creatures…
-I want eight.
-Yes sir, we know... but after all the physical and psychological exams... Cat Nap was rejected as a prospect.
"What? Why?" he exclaims, looking at the documents.
The girl showed no tolerance for insomnia, and the gas canisters were not well received by her organs.
"Couldn't we replace her organs? This little one's cells could adapt with implants."
"No, sir..." the woman in the dressing gown showed her own notes. "The girl commits violent acts; just this afternoon she attacked Miss Delight during nap time." She pointed to the screen.
The video begins with a line of children following the art teacher by the hand.
-The girl developed sleep anxiety and-
The boss interrupted.
"What is that boy doing with the little ones? What section is he in?" she asks, looking at the screen and the boy who is leaving with a teacher.
An employee in a white uniform answers from his seat, one of the chairs furthest from the main table; he seemed calm, at least on the surface.
-This is Theodore Grambell, one of the children in the English group, and he is seven years old.-
"He doesn't look like a seven-year-old boy," the scientist says ironically, his glasses wrapped in a handkerchief.
"That's just how children are," she replies with a nervous smile.
"And why aren't the older ones with the little ones? Can't you enlighten us, Supervisor Sinclair? Could you clarify what happened to your child?" the boss asks directly, seemingly shifting his gaze from the engineer to the nervous young man.
"I don't know, sir. I've been in charge of little Poppy for a few days now. I haven't been able to check on the children, but my employees must have had some kind of accident to lose the child. I'm very sorry, sir."
"Sir, a child out of their room is important, but the fact that our Catnap child is not viable should be the priority for discussion."
"There will be no changes! If this is your attitude and you don't feel capable of handling your job, I must tell you that the company will not keep you and you can leave whenever you please, woman!"
The table and every employee fell silent, each one lowering their gaze. A temperamental man like their boss was as much of a health risk as a knee ache that could tomorrow be a terminal infection or a simple scrape; it was dangerous to cross him. The engineer glanced at the doctor, analyzing her expressions as if she were another enemy.
His analysis is confirmed when you see those eyes filled with blind resentment.
-No, sir, the procedure can be performed tomorrow.-
With the consent of those present, the screams of teacher Delight and the sight of her eye pierced by a pencil in a little girl's hands were forgotten. Only the engineer observed the event, his discomfort visible.