Marisol went to bed at 2:30 PM. She was exhausted . a single mother
in College . Douglas, the man who was baby Calypso's father, had
disappeared when he found out that he had made Marisol pregnant.
As Marisol was about to fall into bed with all her clothes on, Calypso shrieked with the discomfort of a dirty diaper. Calypso was only three months old, and Marisol was twenty. After Calypso's diaper had been changed, Marisol stripped from head to toe, took a short shower and put on her nightclothes, which were shorts and a T-shirt (she got too hot with anything else, even if she lived in Maine, and it was January. She took the baby to bed with her, as she did every night, so that she wouldn't have to get up to take care of an angry/hungry/whatever the reason she was crying for Calypso. Tonight, however, Calypso was happy to sleep soundly. Both Marisol and Calypso were content.
When Marisol woke up, Calypso was still in her arms. She looked behind her to see a clock. It read 10:00 AM.
"AAH!" She screamed, jumping up. She had missed two classes. Her scream set Calypso off, and she whimpered, scared, and stared up at her mom.
Marisol got up and realized that she was fully dressed. She looked at her bed, and it was a completely different bed. Slowly she looked around the room. It was a large cave-like room, lined with beds just like the ones that she had been fast asleep in. In each of the beds she could see still lumps, some were moving slightly - there were people in these beds. Where was she? She picked Calypso up and held her tight. Calypso wasn't very happy, but she didn't say anything. She just looked at her mother with her wide eyes and slightly open. Marisol would have thought it was cute if she wasn't so worried.
"Hi," a raspy voice whispered from her right. Marisol jumped, and looked around to see a child lying in the bed next to hers. It was a boy, and on the bed, carved into the wood, was the name Oliver. "You new here?" the skinny boy asked.
"I guess . where am I?" she asked.
The boy shrugged. "Nobody knows how we got here or why . I came here three years ago. Here . every once in awhile they come and take about ten people away, and they never come back. Nobody knows where they take them, if it's to safety, or to death, or -"
"Who are THEY?" Marisol asked.
Oliver shrugged. "They come and bring us our food, take us to the bathroom to bathe, but we never see their faces. They are hidden by masks."
"How old are you . Oliver, right?"
"My name isn't Oliver and I'm thirteen."
"Well, on your bed it says Oliver . what is your name?"
The boy shrugged. "I don't have a name."
Marisol was surprised. "Ok, then, can I just call you Oliver?"
He shrugged. "Sure, I don't care."
Marisol looked on her bed to see "Sarah" carved on her bed. She shrugged.
"I'm Marisol, and this is baby Calypso," Marisol said.
Oliver nodded and shook Marisol's hand. Calypso grabbed his finger. "How old is she?" he asked.
"Three months." Marisol paused. "Where do you think they take us?" she asked.
He shrugged again. "I dunno . wherever it is, I hope it's a better place than here, and I hope that it's better than the place they took me away from, I hope it's a place without pain, without fear or anger, where I can just be happy for the rest of the time I should spend in this universe."
Marisol nodded. "And where did they take you from?" she asked.
"I was in a foster home. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father was abusive and drinks. I don't know where he is now. I've been in about ten foster homes in my life . they are always mean to me there. The other children get me in trouble, and they didn't understand that I was just a nice boy who wants to learn about the world," Oliver explained.
"Did you have any blood siblings?" Marisol asked. Oliver pointed to the bed behind him, where a thin girl was staring at them from her expressionless eyes.
"Janina is ten years old. We refuse to be parted, but we were put into separate homes."
"I came a year after he did," Janina spoke.
As Marisol was about to fall into bed with all her clothes on, Calypso shrieked with the discomfort of a dirty diaper. Calypso was only three months old, and Marisol was twenty. After Calypso's diaper had been changed, Marisol stripped from head to toe, took a short shower and put on her nightclothes, which were shorts and a T-shirt (she got too hot with anything else, even if she lived in Maine, and it was January. She took the baby to bed with her, as she did every night, so that she wouldn't have to get up to take care of an angry/hungry/whatever the reason she was crying for Calypso. Tonight, however, Calypso was happy to sleep soundly. Both Marisol and Calypso were content.
When Marisol woke up, Calypso was still in her arms. She looked behind her to see a clock. It read 10:00 AM.
"AAH!" She screamed, jumping up. She had missed two classes. Her scream set Calypso off, and she whimpered, scared, and stared up at her mom.
Marisol got up and realized that she was fully dressed. She looked at her bed, and it was a completely different bed. Slowly she looked around the room. It was a large cave-like room, lined with beds just like the ones that she had been fast asleep in. In each of the beds she could see still lumps, some were moving slightly - there were people in these beds. Where was she? She picked Calypso up and held her tight. Calypso wasn't very happy, but she didn't say anything. She just looked at her mother with her wide eyes and slightly open. Marisol would have thought it was cute if she wasn't so worried.
"Hi," a raspy voice whispered from her right. Marisol jumped, and looked around to see a child lying in the bed next to hers. It was a boy, and on the bed, carved into the wood, was the name Oliver. "You new here?" the skinny boy asked.
"I guess . where am I?" she asked.
The boy shrugged. "Nobody knows how we got here or why . I came here three years ago. Here . every once in awhile they come and take about ten people away, and they never come back. Nobody knows where they take them, if it's to safety, or to death, or -"
"Who are THEY?" Marisol asked.
Oliver shrugged. "They come and bring us our food, take us to the bathroom to bathe, but we never see their faces. They are hidden by masks."
"How old are you . Oliver, right?"
"My name isn't Oliver and I'm thirteen."
"Well, on your bed it says Oliver . what is your name?"
The boy shrugged. "I don't have a name."
Marisol was surprised. "Ok, then, can I just call you Oliver?"
He shrugged. "Sure, I don't care."
Marisol looked on her bed to see "Sarah" carved on her bed. She shrugged.
"I'm Marisol, and this is baby Calypso," Marisol said.
Oliver nodded and shook Marisol's hand. Calypso grabbed his finger. "How old is she?" he asked.
"Three months." Marisol paused. "Where do you think they take us?" she asked.
He shrugged again. "I dunno . wherever it is, I hope it's a better place than here, and I hope that it's better than the place they took me away from, I hope it's a place without pain, without fear or anger, where I can just be happy for the rest of the time I should spend in this universe."
Marisol nodded. "And where did they take you from?" she asked.
"I was in a foster home. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father was abusive and drinks. I don't know where he is now. I've been in about ten foster homes in my life . they are always mean to me there. The other children get me in trouble, and they didn't understand that I was just a nice boy who wants to learn about the world," Oliver explained.
"Did you have any blood siblings?" Marisol asked. Oliver pointed to the bed behind him, where a thin girl was staring at them from her expressionless eyes.
"Janina is ten years old. We refuse to be parted, but we were put into separate homes."
"I came a year after he did," Janina spoke.