Scorn: Breaking A Rule

The stout guard woman approached my bed. She told me he was to sleep here, sneering. “There’s no room!” I protested in a whisper. She glared at me and pointed to the foot of the bed. The boy crawled in below my feet. My bed-mate did not stir. Ignorance was the way to keep out of trouble with the guards. I lay back, frowning.

I could not sleep. I watched the guard room. When they thought we were all asleep they retired to the smaller inner lounge inside. I got up. I snuck out into the facility. I shouldn’t be wandering about, but they all hate me anyway. I don’t even need a reason to be punished, so breaking the bedtime rule was not any worse than following all of them.

In the lobby on the main floor a large columned area is built to look like the old neighborhood. It’s a museum to the history of the town. Fake storefronts, fake banks, fake sidewalks all call to me. My Dad saw this place like this, when he first came here. Poor, hungry, filthy, he had ridden in a boxcar and jumped off at the station.

View this story's 6 comments.