The Numbers on Her Wrist

19

"I'm tired," I breathe, having just finished explaining a few more experiences with my owners. Agent Lawson looks as though he is about to speak, ready to release me, but Trevor interjects, dismissing any hope of me returning to my apartment before supper. "You can wait for rest later. This takes precedence."

Samuel intercedes on my behalf, "If she is tired, then let me take her home... You can bring us back in another day for further interrogation." The agent scowls and points a finger at my friend, "This is not," he stresses the word, "an interrogation. This is a questioning, an evaluation of a witness. So you just watch it, boy. If I had it my way, you wouldn't be anywhere near here. I'd have you locked up so tight yo-"

"Enough." Daniel holds up a hand. "Amelia, if you could tell us one more thing about them, anything at all, then I will let you get home. Then, you can come back in on Monday." I swallow and nod a few times, "Alright."

"But," he stops me before I can begin. "On Monday, I want you to begin explaining the mechanics, the workings and proceedings of the Association. As much as you know." I nod once again, glancing to Sam before beginning.

Flashback- explained to agents/Sam:

I watch with bated breath and clenched fists as one of the boys- who is not much older than myself- is lead from one of the back rooms of the large orphanage building. I can't help but stare at him. His shirt is barely staying on his slim shoulders, his stomach heaving as he tries to force air through his lungs; his relatively short hair is frazzled and swept in many different directions.

He looks as though he has been in a fight with someone, but I know- all the children know- that that is not the reason he was back there...

Or at least, it could not be counted as a fight.

It is considered "training," and is used only for the children over twelve, only for those who travel outside the orphanage for the street fights, only those who need to know how to take a hit and get back up.

The most accurate way to define Mr. Lyle Evans', one of the seven main heads of the orphanage, idea of training: You will be beaten several times. You will suffer and bear hits and kicks, while also being thrown around the room.

You are not allowed to fight back.

We are told it is to strengthen us. It is to see how many hits we can take before we cannot get back up.

523 catches my eyes as he stumbles further from the room, his words rushed and almost silent, "Don't drink the water," he whispers, but he is quieted by a swift tug from his guard. I nod once and thank him with a small smile, my friend nodding back to me. 523 is escorted by a man with an iron fist and steel eyes to bring him back to the bedrooms and I feel a pang of sympathy run through me.

He only lasted three minutes.

It isn't a terrible time, considering the first time children go they barely last three hits...

But his time will be nothing compared to mine.

Today, I will not fall.

Today, Mr. Evans will give up before I do.

I am interrupted from my thoughts as the man sticks his head from behind the door, a sickening deceiving smile etched onto his features. "Come on, 564. You are up." Biting the inside of my cheek, I stand from the only furniture that sits in the hallway right before the room- a grey plastic chair with a crack down the middle- and slowly walk towards him.