Darling, don’t try your best
To see who will fall first
The wind will blow us wild, like paper mill
Don’t wait. There’s no sign, for paper child

It happened in the middle of the night, just before the beginning of my internship. When I was so focus on the adults pestering me that I let my guard down.

All of it was in the end just a long, back and forth, series of limericks going crescendo. I thought I had it under control. But I didn’t. The whole thing just blew up in my face prodigiously. And trying to sabotage my forced interview was what set it in motion.

Before the evening, everyone had learned about my altercation with Mr. Big-shoes. Rumors spread even faster. Not only to them, I purposely tried to blow the other applicants’ opportunity, but it had been perceived as a personal giant middle finger to the entire community. So when they heard I actually ended up with a post higher than what they were given, for literally defecating on them, let say putting a lamb in the raptors’ den was the Reader’s Digest version of what was awaiting me.

I was told my internship would be starting after everyone’s, as I was requested to go through a little preparation, beforehand. One morning, an enthusiastic chairman barged in my room with a pile of binders and a full box of his favorite delicacies, on top. I started to think that was his way to get back at me. Nobody can be that blind. He shoved the whole things in my arms with the suggestion I studied it seriously. And from his face, I could see this time, he was warning me to not play solo. The only positive side of that story was that a little girl with beaded hair received an anonymous box of sugar bombs, a few hours later. At least, I made someone happy.

As for the others, they had their own way to convey their feeling. It wasn’t much different from what I had experienced in the past. But then, I was only dealing with a few individuals, not the entire center community. Now, they were retaliating through my chores and honestly, it was overwhelming: piles of cloths purposely trashed to add to my work load; unfolding what I had just finished and pretending I was slacking on the job; stealing batches and spreading it across the building. It even went to lock me up in the laundry heater room while it was steaming hot. In short, everything was good to distract and overwork me to exhaustion.

I was going back to my room so drained, I barely had energy to do my homework. But I had to weather the storm. Because the moment I would stumble, they all would be on me. It was like walking on a very thin line. But the hardest part was to admit that if I was feeling this way, it meant they had more influence on me than I thought. Nowhere in hell, I was going to let that be true.

When I got transferred to the kitchen, things didn’t improve, although being in direct contact with the crowd had another taste. At least, I could respond to their bosh. That month I easily burned more bugs than grubs but that didn’t stop them. Their great game was to have me cleaning after them. At one point, the canteen reached such a level of filthiness during meal time that the staff, unaware of what was going on, had to pull us back into line. Which didn’t help my case.

One evening, after everyone had been served, I was about to finally take a sit to eat, when someone got up and walked to the buffet, calling me back. Of course, it was no choker to see a familiar scared boy behind the serving line, asking me for a new plate of food. I look at his untouched food and lifted my eyebrow, too tired to ask what was wrong with it. “It’s bad. It tastes rotten. Am sure the food’s full of germs. I want anotha.” I could see people snickering behind him.

“If the food is spoiled, you’re still going to be sick with a new plate. So will everyone,” I pointed out, loud enough so they all could hear. I smiled. “Do you want me to let the cook know?” Jeremiah paused. I could see the gears rotating in his head.

“Gimme anotha, I said,” he ruffled his feathers. Adjusting my gloves, I rolled my eyes and turned around to grab a new plate. “And this time, make sure to not touch the food. I don’t want yar filth, rot!”

Well, wasn’t it the hundredth “cootie” joke thrown at me that day? He was really proud and my legs were killing me. In my head, I spread open the web of possibilities I spent the month to weave and looked at all the paths. Just to keep track. But sometimes, you are just tired.

I did what he asked. I carefully prepared a new plate of food, making sure nothing but the utensils were touching it. It was probably the best plate I had ever set. I presented it to him then held on it, just enough to see confusion crack his sneer.

Slowly, and loudly, I hawked, rolling saliva in the back of my throat, pressing against my pallet with my tong until I gathered enough snot to create a decently weighted gob. Gracefully, I let it slide off my mouth and land on top of his food in a satisfying plop.
“It’s on the house,” I flirted, handing him his new plate.

We looked at each other for a couple of very, very long seconds. Then in a furious outburst, Jeremiah wiped the plate off my hand and sent it on the floor, followed by the scream of the canteen lady that had watched the whole scene.

Of course, the adults didn’t let me of the hook after that, but strangely, on the inmates’ side, everything just stopped, all of a sudden. As if we had return weeks back to when I was nonexistent to them. Back to normal in the course of a night.  I wasn’t going to complain - I already had my hands full with the supervisors - but even though that was what I wanted, all along, something wasn’t feeling right. I kept looking for signs but nothing was there. It was really over: I was back on being inconspicuous. 

With no other crisis, the end of the month finally arrived, announcing the beginning of the internship I would ultimately never do.

I had spent the afternoon being briefed by my tutors, probably to make sure I would behave the next day. The preparation dragged on, until late that evening. I couldn’t really blame them. I would have fear another stunt if I was in their shoes. As for me, I was more concerned with Miller himself and being under his control for an entire month. But I was also curious. Like a rookie boxer walking in a ring to meet his first real opponent.

After reviewing one last time all my notes, I switched off my light and turned toward the widow. It was raining. The blue ambient of the night and the street lights reflecting on the water drops were like shiny constellations on the glass. They all transformed into little red dwarfs when a drone passed near the facade, the reflection drawing lugubrious shadows on the walls and ceiling. The wind was clacking, carrying a distant thunder. There would be a storm soon. Rocked by the ominous sound, I tucked myself in bed, thinking of blue and red, of blood and paint, wondering if that night my ghosts would eventually leave me alone. But my demons were elsewhere.

Because of my window tapping, I didn’t hear the door opening. Because of the wind howling, I didn’t hear the whispers. And before I could notice anything, two pairs of hands grabbed me, gagged me and put a bag on my head.

I had no time to react. I hit something with my legs before they tied them up. I tried to escape and fell on the floor. Someone punched me, while another secured my arms. Outside, lightning finally cut the sky, and trough the bag, I saw several shadows overlooking me, before darkness returned.

Some groaning and dragging later, I was thrown on a tiled and cold floor, while the storm outside was finally getting on it. There was an echo. The place had a high ceiling. It smelled like soap, moist and mold. The showers, I guessed immediately, or the toilets. 

I heard some rustling near me and someone emptied a bucket on top of my head. It wasn’t water. The liquid cemented the bag on my face, making it hard to breath. On my right, I heard a faucet running, and this time, received a load of icy water in the face. The bucket fell violently on the floor and finally someone removed the bag from my head.

The showers. Nine persons. All male, in underwear, wearing gloves and some sort of hoods made of rice sacks with holes for their eyes. Older than me. Pause. Second look to confirm. Wait a sec…

A feeling of dread fell in my stomach. No Jeremiah there. None of his friends either. I knew their bodies. I could recognized them from their back. But none of them were present here. I spent all those weeks obsessing over them that I forgot one little detail: Nothing said they would be the only ones after me.

Fuck!

I didn’t know those guys. And because of that I didn’t know how to deal with them. But that doesn’t mean I can’t.

I only had a few seconds. They were in underwear. Probably to avoid dirtying their cloths. Which meant blood concerns and intent of cover up. Wearing hoods? They didn’t want to be recognized. Meaning, no matter what they were about to do to me, they feared I could tell on them. So they were planning on keeping me in a state where I could at least speak. That was good to know. But the gloves... The gloves were a bad omen.

Escape? Not possible, I was tied up. So my only chance of destabilization was to identify them. And I didn’t have much to relay on. Body shape? Two were taller than me. The others were either the same or smaller. But most were pretty fit. So sport players. Skins? It was hard to tell in the obscurity. Four were white, though one of them might have been an Asian descent or a métis like me. Three were tanned and the two last were really dark. Indian? Afro? Couldn’t tell. Scars? Couldn’t see. But one was wearing a band aid on the knee.

I needed them to speak.

“Wfouat dwuvnt!” I muffed through my gag. No reaction. I tried to push the cloth off my mouth with my tong. “Wasfar!” I articulated hoping they would get it this time.

The black dude in front of me stepped forward and brutally kicked me in the face. “Shut up!” he shouted with a raspy voice. So he was the leader.

The kick, I thought, had broken my nose. I felt the bone cracking against my skin. Or if it wasn’t yet, it would be soon. The pain was sharp at first but returned with a burning sensation as my lips teared up against my teeth. Salt and iron went down my throat, wetting the cloth stuck in it. The only good thing was the hit loosen the gag enough for me rub it off against the floor tiles.

“What the fuck do you want?” I finally was able to scream, my mouth free, spitting blood all over my chest. The leader ordered me again to be quiet and struck my hips to put me on my back. “Or what?” I groaned trying to focus on the sound of his voice and ignoring the pain. “You gonna beat me up? Obviously that’s already on your menu, moron.”

He knelt next to me and pulled me by the hair. “Damn, you just never shut up.” Violently, he crushed my skull into the wall of the shower booth behind and kept me there, pressing on my face as if he wanted it to imprint the tiles. The group started to laugh. “Ts-ssh, such a trashy mouth. Hey - Don’t they teach trannie to stay in line?”

“Am good at disappointing,” I mumbled, my teeth against the ceramic. “But you guys seem well informed,” I grinned, looking at him from the corner of my eyes.

That one got the tallest guy in the crowed to step in and furiously rammed his foot in my left shoulder. “You disgusting prick!” The chock sent me against the shower pipe, turning the water on when my bust hit the faucet. “Faggot!”

His voice was sharp, like a dog’s bark. I had heard it before. I scooted back against the wall, after a fashion, and wiped laboriously the blood off my face.

“I can’t believe this rot became the face of the program,” hissed Bean Pole, while jumping up and down.

I ground my teeth. “We can trade if you want…” I spited a clot and rested my head against the wet tiles. “I hate cupcakes anyway…”

I laughed.
All of a sudden. Nervously.

I laughed at the absurdity. This was just so freaking hilarious. I probably looked like I had lost it. But it was spontaneous and uncontrollable. My head wobbling, blood running down my nose, I cackled because I really hated the chairman’s cupcakes and that was all I could think of in this instant.

My madman's giggles seemed to last an eternity. I was as surprised as them and for a moment, it almost felt like we were just shooting a movie and I had messed up my line. Slowly, I calmed down, and my laughter died on its own. Only was left the sound the shower covering the rain. I looked at them, standing still outside of the booth, the shadows of their eyes on me and the streets lights cutting their silhouettes.

My breath trembled.

I just got the time to slide on my knees before two of them ran into me. I threw my body in their legs and made them fall. One of them swore. The other kicked. This time, my nose broke for real. Instinctively, I planted my teeth deep in the flesh, drawing another scream. One hand pulled me back, something hit me in the guts... and what came after is just a chaotic blur.

I know I rolled up on the floor while they rained blows on me. I remembered screaming. A lot.

But not once I called for help.