The bus stops. You get off. The door slams. The cold hits your face like a slap. You are twelve. You are alone. The city is grey. The sky is lower. You walk fast. Your shoes are wet. You do not look back. You know what is waiting. You know what is coming. You are a boy in a world that has forgotten how to be soft.

You enter the building. It smells of dust. It smells of old paper. It smells of fear. The walls are white. They are too clean. The floor is tile. It is cold under your feet. You walk down the hall. The doors are closed. You knock on the last one. No one answers. You knock again. Your knuckles ache. You are the lowest. You are the one who brings the supplies. You are the one who carries the weight.

The door opens. A woman stands there. Her face is pale. Her eyes are red. She looks at you. She does not speak. She steps aside. You walk in. The room is small. There is a table. There is a chair. There is a lamp. The light is yellow. It is dim. On the table, there is a bowl. There is a spoon. There is a jar. The jar is glass. It is clear. Inside is a paste. It is brown. It is thick. It moves slowly. It looks like mud. It looks like life.

The woman sits down. She does not look at you. She looks at the wall. She picks up the spoon. She stirs the paste. The spoon makes a sound. It is wet. It is slow. You watch her hands. They are trembling. You watch the paste. It swirls. It spins. It is alive. You feel a pull. It is in your chest. It is in your throat. You want to eat it. You want to be it. You want to dissolve.

You put your bag down. It is heavy. It is full of boxes. You open them. You take out the cans. You take out the packets. You line them up. You are precise. You are quiet. You do not breathe too loud. You are a ghost. You are a tool. The woman watches you. Her eyes are sharp. She sees you. She knows you. She knows what you are. She knows what you want.

You pick up the jar. You hold it. It is warm. It hums. You can feel the pulse. It is like a heart. It is like a secret. You bring it to your nose. You smell it. It smells of earth. It smells of rain. It smells of home. You close your eyes. You remember. You remember the field. You remember the dirt. You remember the smell of your father’s hands. He was a farmer. He was poor. He was kind. He died when you were ten. The sickness took him. The sickness is everywhere now. The sickness is in the air. The sickness is in the food.

The woman speaks. Her voice is low. It is rough. She does not say your name. She calls you "child." It is a title. It is a cage. She tells you to eat. She points to the bowl. She points to the spoon. She does not look at you. She looks at the floor. You know the rule. You know the price. You know the truth. You know that the paste is made from the sick. You know that the sick are the rich. You know that the rich pay to stay alive. You know that you are the vessel. You know that you are the filter. You take the poison so they can keep their strength. You take the pain so they can keep their joy. It is a trade. It is a contract. It is your life.

You pick up the spoon. You dip it in. The paste sticks to the metal. It is thick. It is dark. You lift it to your mouth. You open your lips. You do not think. You do not feel. You are empty. You are full. You swallow. The taste is bitter. The taste is sweet. The taste is nothing. It burns. It cools. It settles. You close your eyes. You feel the heat. It spreads. It goes to your heart. It goes to your brain. It goes to your bones. You are one with it. You are part of it. You are the medicine. You are the cure.

The woman stands up. She walks to the door. She opens it. She looks back. Her face is empty. Her eyes are dry. She nods. She leaves. The door closes. The lock clicks. You are alone. You sit in the chair. You hold the bowl. You stir the paste. You watch it spin. You watch it move. You are the center. You are the eye. You are the storm.

The room is dark. The lamp is off. The moon is out. The light is silver. It falls on the table. It falls on the bowl. The paste glows. It is faint. It is blue. It is bright. You feel it. You feel the power. You feel the knowledge. You know now. You know the secret. The sickness is not a disease. The sickness is a choice. The sickness is a wall. The rich build the wall. The poor live inside. The rich eat the wall. The poor feed the wall. You are the mortar. You are the stone. You are the foundation.

You stand up. Your legs are weak. Your head is heavy. You walk to the window. You look out. The city is vast. The buildings are tall. The lights are far. You see a car. It is black. It is shiny. It moves fast. It goes away. It does not stop. It does not see you. You are invisible. You are essential. You are the shadow. You are the breath. You are the silence.

You think of your mother. She is in the ground. She is under the dirt. She is with the worms. She is with the rain. She does not know. She does not care. She loved you. She fed you. She held you. She was soft. She was warm. She was gone. The world is hard. The world is cold. The world is hungry. You are full. You are empty. You are the space between.

You go back to the table. You pick up the spoon. You dip it again. The paste is thinner. It is lighter. It is almost gone. You eat it. You eat it fast. You eat it hard. You do not stop. You do not breathe. You are the beast. You are the god. You are the man. You are the boy. You are the one who knows. The knowledge is a weight. The knowledge is a fire. It burns inside you. It eats your soul. It eats your heart. It eats your name. You are no longer a boy. You are a thing. You are a function. You are a part of the machine.

The jar is empty. The bowl is clean. The spoon is still. You put it down. You stand up. You walk to the door. You open it. The hall is dark. The air is cold. You walk out. You do not look back. You walk down the street. The rain starts. It is light. It is cold. It washes your face. It washes your hands. It washes your soul. You feel the water. You feel the cold. You feel the life. You are still here. You are still you. But you are different. You are changed. You are marked. You are branded.

You walk home. The house is small. The house is old. The door is open. The light is on. Your mother is not there. Your father is not there. The house is empty. The house is silent. The house is a tomb. You go to the kitchen. The counter is clean. The sink is dry. The fridge is empty. You open the cabinet. There is a box. There is a can. It is red. It is labeled. You know what it is. You know what it means. You take it out. You hold it. It is warm. It is heavy. It is real.

You sit down. You open the can. You eat. It is simple. It is plain. It is food. It is not medicine. It is not poison. It is just food. It is just life. You eat slowly. You chew. You swallow. You taste the salt. You taste the oil. You taste the meat. You taste the truth. The truth is simple. The truth is hard. The truth is that you are alive. The truth is that you are free. The truth is that you are alone.

The can is empty. The lid is flat. The room is dark. The rain is loud. The night is long. You close your eyes. You let go. You let the knowledge go. You let the anger go. You let the fear go. You let the pain go. You let it all go. You are empty. You are clean. You are light. You are free. You are gone.

You sleep. The dream is short. The dream is clear. You see a field. The grass is green. The sky is blue. The sun is warm. You are a child. You are a boy. You are happy. You are safe. You are loved. The dream fades. The light comes. The sun rises. The day begins. You open your eyes. You are awake. You are here. You are alive. You stand up. You walk out. The door is open. The street is wet. The city is waking. The people are moving. The cars are running. The world is turning. You are part of it. You are the engine. You are the fuel. You are the fire. You are the light. You are the wound. You are the distant wound. You are the source. You are the end. You are the beginning. You walk. You do not stop. You do not look back. You are the wind. You are the rain. You are the earth. You are the stone. You are the silence. You are the sound. You are the truth. You are the lie. You are the life. You are the death. You are the breath. You are the heartbeat. You are the pulse. You are the blood. You are the bone. You are the skin. You are the soul. You are the ghost. You are the memory. You are the future. You are the past. You are the now. You are the forever. You are the nothing. You are the everything. You are the wound. You are the distant wound.