“We’ll take the boy as compensation, no?” Lying on the hard mattress in my dark, cold room, my stomach sank and my heart dropped as I overheard the exchange downstairs. My twelve years old body froze, sick with fear and a horrifying realization. Still, I clung to the hope that the one person who had failed me since birth wouldn’t go this far. Please, Dad. Please. “M‑My son? Uh… yes. Yes! H‑He’s upstairs sleeping. My debt will be fully repaid if I hand him over, right?” There was no shock left to feel; you can only smash glass into so many pieces, and my heart had already been ground down. Tears streamed down my unwashed face as I lay there, the stiff bed offering no comfort. A deep laugh rattled the floorboards. “Pfft-HAHAHA! You’re a terrible fucking father, you know that?” “B‑But the debt will be waived, yes?” Something heavy hit the table. “Yes. Stop asking. You, go get the boy. What room is he in?” “T‑The attic… he doesn’t have a room.” “You keep your kid in the attic? You really are a piece of shit. Chavo! Get the kid.” Thump. Thump. Thump. Footsteps, loud and purposeful, drew closer. I should have moved, but I was paralyzed. Even my own body betrayed me, locking my muscles so I couldn’t even twitch. I stared at the dirty wooden ceiling, my breathing going ragged. Sweat formed on my face and seeped into eyes I couldn’t close. My vision blurred and sounds blended together, and my heart pounded as those footsteps grew unbearable. “Ezra… Ezra.” A voice, slick and all‑encompassing, filled the room. I could only watch the door from the corner of my eye. The tears and the hope that this would end were gone; whatever control I thought I had was gone too. One thing was clear: no one was coming to save me. A knock broke the silence. Knock. Knock. Knock. Slow and deliberate, each knock loosened the tension in my limbs as if my mind had injected anesthetic into my veins. Numbness washed over me. The door creaked open. Light spilled across the basement for an instant before the door closed again, and slow, purposeful footsteps reverberated as whoever it was approached my bed. The door creaked, and the light under it vanished. A slow, heavy tread crossed the room, boards groaning one by one. I lay there and did nothing. Not because I didn’t want to – every nerve was screaming at me to curl up, roll over, scramble away – but because I couldn’t. My limbs were stone. Even my eyes wouldn’t shut. I was a twelve‑year‑old pinned under a glare, waiting to be taken. Breath fogged in the cold air. It wasn’t mine. Whoever was standing at the foot of the bed was close enough that I could hear them inhale, hold it, and let it out again. The smell hit me a second later: sweat and cigarettes and something sour that turned my stomach. My heart was thudding so fast I thought it might bruise my ribs. I could feel each beat; I could count them, and counting them didn’t help. Every hard thump only reminded me that time was passing, that he was still there, that sooner or later he would touch me and then it would be over. The footsteps stopped. Weight shifted on the floor. I felt the mattress dip under the stranger’s hand. A cold fingertip pressed against the arch of my foot, then lifted and landed again, higher up this time, like someone testing raw meat. My breath stuttered. A sound crawled up my throat but died before it reached my lips. Tears that had been collecting in my eyes finally spilled, sliding down into my ears. I wanted Tsagi. I wanted Mr. Greeze. I wanted anyone. I wanted to be anywhere else but here. The stranger leaned over me, close enough that I could see the vague outline of a face above me, close enough that I could feel their heat through my thin blanket. “Ezra.” Hearing my name from that mouth made my skin crawl. I stared back, trying to see details and grateful that I couldn’t. A hand hovered above my chest. I imagined it closing around my throat, imagined being dragged out of the bed and down the hall, imagined the door slamming and the lock clicking behind me. My heart hammered. My hands clenched uselessly. The hand descended. Then, in my paralyzed state, I felt something whisper in my ears… “Wake up.” ----- "Wake up!" A million different thoughts rushed through my head as I jolted awake. My body and blanket were sticky with sweat, my breathing ragged and shallow, my long hair was plastered all over my face, my throat dry, my eyes red with tears, and the muscles in my leg felt like I had been running for hours. For a few heartbeats I had no idea where I was. The dark room from the dream lingered, then dissolved into my own familiar ceiling. I coughed and gagged, trying to clear the saliva that had pooled in my mouth. When my eyes focused, I saw a small face inches from mine. A little girl in a white nightgown was kneeling at the edge of my mattress, as if she’d been about to climb in. Her expression was a mix of worry and confusion. She wore a simple white nightgown, in a position like she was about to crawl into my bed "Are you okay?" she asked. I took a breath and coughed again. “Y‑You startled—” another cough tore up my throat— “me, is all.” I wiped a hand across my mouth and forced a shaky smile to reassure her. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” She raised an eyebrow. "You sure? 'Cuz you were babbling in your sleep..." I brushed it off. “I’m fine, Emma. Just a bad dream is all…” Emma shrugged and patted my shoulder. “Well, anyway, wake up! Mom said you _have_ to go to school, no skipping the last day of school! Plus, you promised you'd attend my science fair tomorrow!” I nodded as all my memories pooled in. I blinked, rubbed at my face, and let it sink in. Right. Today was it—the last day of high school. Most people would probably be buzzing, either excited to be done or sentimental about leaving behind the friends and hallways they grew up with. Some might not care much for the mushy stuff, but still at least have a handful of people to swap memories with. Me? I didn’t have that. I can’t say my feelings about all this are anything special, but they sure aren’t the usual either. There are probably millions of kids who drifted through school without ever really being part of it… but if I’m being honest, I don’t know a single person from that building. Not one. Teachers, classmates, counselors, coaches—none of their names stuck. Their faces blurred together. It was like those four years had blown past me. It was a sort of nauseating and dreadful feeling, to not remember anything from such a long period of time. *Whap!* I jumped again as Emma lightly slapped my back. I looked at her wide-eyed for just a second before desperately trying to arrange my thoughts. I could see it in her eyes that she was starting to worry, her eyebrows tensing up. She grabbed my cheeks and bent her head, scanning me up and down. "Are you *sure* you're okay? You look like war veteran, what's up with you?" She looked dead in my eyes but didn't wait for my response, instead opting to scan my face, neck and hands like she was an experienced doctor. I tried to get some words in, but she just pressed her little hand on my mouth and motioned for me to hush up. "W-We're gonna be late for school, I bette-" "Uh uh, hold it..." she said, her eyes boring right into mine. Suddenly, she took out a pen light and shone it directly into my eyes. "Gah! What the-"