Did I collapse… again?

I woke, alone, in bed.

My outburst must have broken what strength there was left of me.

Interacting with my angel is quite dangerous…

Half of my face is numb. I raise my hand to it.

Bandages run across the left side of my face, clutching my neck in an uncomfortable grip.

Most of my face is swollen.

I track the tip of my tongue throughout the innermost layers of my mouth. There is intricate stitching sewn bolt-like, across multiple seams of skin, running from the jawline up through the inmost corners of my left eye.

They took care of me…

I get up. This place is my room.

A total of nine, petite, wooden beds with pastel-colored sheets comprise the whole of the left side of this room. I share this space with eight children... and a Senior.

I glance over to the right and see the modest bed that occupies that space. The bed is not unlike those of the children, although in more moderate size. The Seniors strive for humility in all aspects of life, all in the name of servility.

A small platter sits at my bedside. On top rests a little cup of water and a pocket-sized bread roll. I take them.

I do not think I can open my mouth wide enough to eat this.

I fiddle with the pocket-sized bread roll in my hand.

Whilst taking what sips of water I can, I make my way out down the dorm’s descending steps. I glance through a skylight in passing. It is high noon; the sun blazes over the basilica. The children and Seniors must be in session.

Would they have placed the boy in his own bed, like me?

Where would I even start to look for him? I do not know where he sleeps.

…

As I continue my search, I notice a cluster of Seniors move into a side wing. I follow; it would be better to ask… someone… somehow… I start to gently massage my mouth with my cupped fist.

The Seniors surround a slab of concrete centered in the middle of a small room. Something wrapped in pastel-colored cloth lies there. Chills run down my back.

The Seniors drop piles of dry tree wood near the slab and chant some unknown words. They retreat. I hide from them. They pass me, unseen, and shuffle along down a large hallway.

I place my cup down and balance my bread roll on top. I glance down the entry and see the backs of the Seniors disappear into a side building.

I rush into the small room and climb the concrete slab. The bundle wrapped in cloth is in the shape of that of a thin child. My eyes start to sting. I reach out and unwrap the cloth.

The boy is there.

I tear. His cheeks are deep, eyes hollow, and lips, torn and cracked. I come close and lean my head on his. I squeeze and whimper.

No…

My first companion…

The first to help.

A slight breeze hits the tip of my nose.

What?

I look at him. Wispy air escapes his lips. I look closer. His chest gently rises and falls, in such a meek manner, that one might be able to miss.

He is alive!

I cup his face and cry, joy-filled tears. Shuffling and voices are heard. I stiffen.

I glance outside and notice Seniors filing out of a room. They carry kindling…

…

Afraid, I lift the boy into my arms and slide off the slab.

I have to hide you!

“YES!” my angel roars.