Escape

To sit bare, bare to the world, bare to you, and bare to the eyes gazing in.

To know what they think, would be a foresight unseen to all, bar one.

I affix a smile on my face, knowing only to myself that the smile has a rash of uncertainty and misgiving.

I have grown to know the use of a smile, to mislead the projection of the subject at hand. But for now, the smile is a gift so pure that it can only be seen as a snowflake, clean and breakable.

Do you think he’ll confess? Confess to that smile that sits in the corner of his mouth, whenever he slumps past? I wonder if he knows I’ve seen, I’ve seen but do not know, perhaps it’s a smile of sorrow or pity or it could be what I hope.

But is that what I want, do I want that look to be solely mine. That’s a selfish thing to steal from all else and I refuse to steal, but the notion that it could be mine is just too solemn to extinguish.

I’ve stood bare, wide-eyed, and observant of the world, but I’ve also felt observed by more and more each day.

This is my life, nude, hopeless, and full of uneasy hope. I have no knowledge outside of my block. I wonder if there is more beyond those streets. I wonder if all that wander past, live far or if they are just a part of the circus that I hear every night. Sometimes I hear screams. Sometimes it's laughing but it’s never just quiet. The screens keep me company. Teach me what I need, but at times they feel censored and misconstrued. My books never fail me, they send me to places I couldn’t conjure, albeit some dark but also a lot of light.

I write, I scribble him, try to draw him in his coat and shoes that look heavy. But the scribble will never show what I see. My little black book is teaming with my thoughts of a life outside these walls. A life I may never feel, breathe or touch.

They say I’m a D.R.T. A child bought and placed here. They study me, using cameras and the glass to see in. Sometimes I think they enter while I’m sleeping but I’ll never really know. They say they study me because I’m a clean skin; a person untouched by the pollution, created long before I had even been thought of. I’m owned by only one, Mr Allen. He’s my keeper and takes care of me. I’ve never seen him or if I have I would never know. He’s the only voice that talks to me. He seems kind but sad. His voice is husky when the snow falls and sometimes I smell an odd smell when he’s talking. He said one day I’ll get out of here but knowing that brings me to worry and a fear that life outside isn’t as hopeful and magical as I believe.

Today the door opened. A man stepped inside. He was tall and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months, his face was covered with fabric and he spoke quickly almost yelling at times.

“He’s dead, you must leave now. Where are your clothes? You must hurry! Go faster!”

I didn’t know what he meant. Who had died? Should I be weeping? Where will I go? I stared at him as though he was a galaxy being discovered for the first time.

The only word I could let out was an inquisitive, “Bah?”

“Oh God, she’s one of them stupid ones” he snorted, almost under his breath.

He tugged at my arm and gestured toward a coat he had pulled from his bag. I’d seen them many times before but never worn or held one. But knowing what I knew about things, that I didn’t really know, I eventually pulled it up my arms, over my shoulders, and watched it as it fell beneath my knees. It was heavy and rough, not at all how I thought a coat would feel. When I swayed, it followed mere seconds behind. But I couldn’t think about that now. I was being thrust out the threshold of my safety.

He grunted as we walked and constantly covered my face with a cloth, that smelled worse than him. Where was I going? Will I die someday too? More importantly, who died?

We walked past things I'd known of but never seen. It was cold and my feet blackened while I walked. We made it to a dark alley. One, I would imagine, a killer would stalk when killing took his fancy. I must watch out!

We came to a stop so suddenly, that he grabbed my coat as to not let me get lost in the passing crowd. I looked up at him as he shoved me through a doorway. I tried to keep pace with him as he strode up more stairs than I could count. Till finally, we reached a hallway, filled with doors; big doors, small doors, and a big yellow door the furthest from the stairs. He reached into his bag once more and rattled around until his hand came loose, revealing a single key. We entered a room filled with screens and a buzzing noise that I will never forget, the screens were me, my sanctuary, my life. My chest filled with air and my brain started to pound, like a little man dancing in my head. I screamed in frustration “Who are you?”. The scream must have startled him as he dropped the envelope he’d been holding since we’d entered. He scrambled to grab it back up and removed his face covering as he gestured for me to sit.

“No, tell me” I replied with a sense of desperation in my voice.

“Your carer died, Luke,” he paused for a minute as though to search his mind for a different word. “Mr Allen died. He died this morning. They suspect he was murdered and now you must go, leave this town and never come back.”

“Where will I go? Where am I?” I whispered.

“You’re in Arrowhead. How did you not know? What did he even teach you?” He said as though he were annoyed.

“I'll take you to the border but no further, you'll find your way from there.” He finally said

“You must sleep now. You can use the bed in the corner.” He flung a hand in the direction of a green sheeted bed that looked hard and unforgiving.

“Thank you Mr Allen,” I said as I tip-toed over to the corner.

“No, I’m Mr Toely.” He said confused but reassured himself somehow before I got to the bed as he was finally smiling and glaring into one of those horrid screens.

I was woken with a shove. The sun was not yet up and the birds that I’d heard of had not yet started to chatter. Mr Toely was standing over me, with what looked like old food and a cup full of white liquid. I copied his actions and ate and drank as he did. When he had finished, he tumbled around looking for something until he reappeared from another room with a pair of what looked like shoes.

“Here,” he said as he pushed them into my chest, “You’ll need these.”

“Thank you, but I must know where I should go?” I replied.

“Anywhere, everywhere, just leave this place. Trust me, you’ll be better off out there than you’ll ever be here.” He sounded sad when he said this as if he wanted to leave also. Why won’t he leave? He could come with me and we could leave together. As I started to glance around the room, I noticed something very familiar. It was my book. The one with the black cover and pages upon pages of scribbles and drawings.

“That’s mine!” I yelled as I jumped up to grab at it.

“You can have it back. It’s of no interest of mine. Just nonsense on pages, that thing is.” he replied seemingly uninterested.

“We must leave now,” he said as he raised himself up off his chair.

The walk was long and seemed to be at abnormal paces, sometimes we’d run, sometimes we’d stroll and at other times, we’d find a wall to conceal ourselves from passersby. I kept my book clasped in my hands throughout, occasionally letting go of one hand to reach out to steady myself.

We stopped under a bridge and Mr Toely revealed a metal bottle that when opened, smelled of a dog that had walked by us minutes earlier. We ate in silence as the water slushed by us and the cars grated the concrete above. I was scared. What will I do? Where will I go? I had heard of a place called Paak. I could go there and find another Mr Allen and be a ‘study’ again or I could draw people or I could show people how to correctly walk in boots. I’d struggled at first but I eventually got there, It’s the laces you see, they’re a real nuisance if they’re not correct.

Mr Toely liked to whistle when we weren’t hiding or running and the tune was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was horrible and at times I considered asking him to stop. He did ask me one very important question though, but I had no answer for it.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” He asked.

“No,” I said in bewilderment “Why do I need a name?”

“So that people know you,” he responded

“Can’t you think of one for me?” I asked hopefully.

“Well nah, it has to be your choice. But, I can have a think and come up with some suggestions.” His answer was helpful but not what I wanted. I wanted him to just tell me I am who I am. I sketched a small picture of Mr Toely so that I never forget his face, the lines on his forehead, and the roughness of his hands. He seems almost kind.

We finally made it to the border and as I stood there, glaring out into the nothingness before me, I felt a sense of fear. Mr Toely pushed an envelope into my hands. I looked down at it and it had been the same envelope he’d fussed over the night earlier.

“That’s yours,” he said as he looked towards to buildings we’d just passed.

”Mr Allen left it for you and I wasn’t gonna give it to you but you need it more than I do. It's twenty thousand and that’ll get you as far as Tently.”

“Thank you Mr Toely, can you not come with me also?” I replied almost begging.

“No bb, I cannot,” he replied as he trod off down the path.

“Am I bb?” I yelled in his direction

“Yes,” he yelled back, “because you always carry that damn black book!”

There I was, alone again.

The feeling of sick rose up my throat and before I knew it, the smile I had held so dear had disappeared.

I wonder if it will ever return. If it did return, will I still know it as my own?

Will I ever see the man I longed for, the man who unveiled my smile?

I had broken my smile.

For now, I need to walk.