Kit looked around him silently, searchingly. The layout was simple enough—white walls, wood floor, simple tiling in the kitchen. It was fairly small, maybe two hundred square feet all together.

He crossed the room to sit on the bed, bouncing slightly before settling down. It wasn't too soft, wasn't too hard. His hand reached out for the pillow, and he fluffed it experimentally; it wasn't the soft down he was used to, but it would have to do. He continued sitting there, staring at meaningless objects, memorizing their exact placement, their size, dimensions.

The Plexiglas window was almost too thick to see through, and the blackout curtains were secured to the metal frame. They looked as if they could serve the double purpose of blankets, if circumstance called for it. The little kitchen contained no cupboards, no drawers; the sink and cutting-board counters were the only indication of its use. There were no bookshelves, no trophy cases—and certainly no fireplace.

But it wasn't the fact that nothing was the same as back home that bothered him. It was the fact that he hadn't been able to take anything with him; no books, no pictures, no clothes, not even pencils and paper. He couldn't send a postcard unless it went through the main post. His clothes would be of standard material and color, like some of those private schools his father bragged so much about. Anything he needed would have to be provided by the Post.

Heck, not even the trees looked familiar. They weren't the semi-tropical plants he was used to—palms and coconuts, big swamp plants and tough crab grass. Instead there were tall pine trees whose sticky sap clung to his hands and the cottonwood poplars that caused the strange irritation in his eyes and nose.

But that was the point of starting fresh, wasn't it? Nothing seemed familiar, nothing was old; everything was new.

The door didn't creak when it was opened; it was the seemingly unnatural motion that caught his eye, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see another boy maybe half his age standing there, staring with wide eyes. Upon seeing the blank stare upon Kit's face, the boy started forward, sitting next to him on the bed.

All was silent for a moment before the boy sighed, kicking his legs out as if he were sitting on a wall.

"Know what I think?" Kit jumped slightly at the sound, but didn't look at him. He refused to let anyone know what he was going through. They couldn't help, even if they would.

The boy didn't wait for an answer. "I think it's okay here. Nothing too bad happens, and sometimes it's got its good points."

Still know response. The boy sighed and shrugged, getting up to go. It didn't escape Kit's notice that his dark slippers shuffled silently along the floor.

He turned to leave, the door almost closed behind him. "Can't get any worse, can it?"

The door shut, and Kit was left alone in his room, staring at the dark wood. And then, finally, he moved. The boy standing outside smiled to himself as he turned away. It was improvement.

Even if all he did was stick out his tongue like a five-year-old.