Jahree scowled as he observed the viscous substance before him with a distaste that wrinkled his nose. “Bleh. Gloppy.” He frowned. Uncomfortably, he attempted to maneuver the odd instrument, something his mother referred to as a ‘spoon.’ Despite his efforts, a dollop of the oatmeal splattered onto the table while a stubborn portion adhered to the spoon, refusing to let go. “It’s oatmeal. Eat it,” his mother urged him, her voice laced with a gentle firmness. She explained, “It’s thick so you can practice using a spoon.” Jahree’s introduction to utensils and the concept of neatly consuming his meals was still new, and he often longed for simpler times and simpler meals. “Bar?” Jahree couldn’t help but ask, his eyes alight with a glimmer of hope. The prospect of the nutrition bars, a rare treat in their current situation, seemed far more appealing to him. “When you’re done,” his mother replied, a blend of encouragement and resolve in her tone. She had rationed the remaining bars meticulously, breaking them into small fragments. She designated one piece as a reward to be given after each meal, but only if Jahree made a sincere effort to eat his food. Jahree noticed the strangeness of the taste as he hesitantly consumed the oatmeal—it was unlike anything he was accustomed to. It reminded him of how messy everything seemed in this alien place. His father would leave for work at the break of dawn and return at dusk, usually covered in a grime that seemed to be an inseparable part of this new world. The streets they walked on were unpaved, made of compacted earth that turned to mud when it rained. The local transportation system was primitive, relying on beasts of burden that nonchalantly treated the streets as their own personal lavatory. The true lavatory facilities, what his family referred to as the ‘necessary,’ were a crude hole in the ground. Jahree found the concept baffling and unpleasant—the hole never seemed to be emptied and exuded an unbearable stench, a constant olfactory reminder of their situation. Getting clean involved water and funny-smelling soap. His dad seemed to smell like it often. This, Jahree learned, was the standard here, a part of daily life in this gritty, unpolished place they had come to call home. Jahree spooned a mouthful of oatmeal, finding it pleasantly palatable. His mother had sweetened it with honey, a touch Jahree appreciated despite honey’s sticky nature. As he savored the meal, his attention was drawn to a small blue orb nestled amidst the oats. With childlike curiosity, he inquired, “Eat ball?” he held up the little blue ball. Shima nodded. “With your spoon. Sai says it’s a berry.” Using a spoon carefully, Jahree scooped up the berry along with some adhering oatmeal. He tentatively placed the berry-laden spoon in his mouth, but it wasn’t until he bit down that the berry’s true flavor burst forth. Juice squirted, startling him, but his surprise quickly turned to delight as he declared, “Like ball berry,” using a mix of languages. His mother encouraged him to finish his breakfast so he could join the other children at play. With swift obedience, Jahree polished off the rest of his oatmeal. His mother then tenderly wiped his face and hands clean of any sticky residue, handed him a portion of a nutrition bar for later, and shepherded him outside. Clutching his bunny close, Jahree made his way toward his friends, where he spotted Lair and a boy named Remti engrossed in a game of catch with a ball. Eager to join in the fun, he approached them. Jahree stood perplexed as he attempted to integrate himself with the other children. “Jahree berry?” he inquired, his voice tinged with a hopeful note as he sought to join their activities. “‘Berry? No, it’s a ball,” Lair corrected with a patient yet firm tone. “Berry. Mama Sai always says berry. Oatmeal and berry,” Jahree persisted, his confusion evident in his furrowed brow. Lair sensed the misunderstanding and decided to clarify. “This is a ball. Berries are something entirely different,” she explained. Noting that her words had not made the necessary impact, she motioned for him to follow. “Come.” Jahree trailed behind as she led him to a nearby plant. Pointing to the small fruits clinging to the branches, she said, “Berry.” She then directed his attention to the spherical object they had been playing with. “This, this is a ball,” she clarified, hoping to finally convey the distinction. Jahree let out a resigned sigh. “Brother’s bother,” he muttered under his breath. He was never going to learn to understand them. Despite the setback, Lair beckoned him back to their previous spot. “Come, play ball,” she invited with an encouraging smile before returning to the game with Remti. Although the local environment was far from what Jahree was accustomed to – the air filled with dust, unfamiliar scents, and an odd selection of foods – he discovered a certain joy in the company of Lair and her friends. Playing with them brought a sense of belonging, a welcome change from the sterile isolation of the facility and the painful ordeals of being confined in the mysterious boxes he once endured. The laughter and warmth shared amongst the children provided Jahree with a spark of happiness, a small light in the maze of learning and adapting to this new, strange world. He carefully positioned his beloved bunny near the wall of their humble abode, ensuring that it was tucked safely out of the way, then ran off to join in the games with the other kids. He had always enjoyed playing ball back at his old home, but things changed drastically when he began attending the facility. After that, the neighbor children wouldn’t play with him. And within the forbidding walls of that institution, no one dared play. If the monster woman wasn’t hurting them, the watch was there. They didn’t like kids playing. As the morning sun climbed higher, the heat began to intensify, and Jahree could feel beads of sweat forming on his skin, causing fine dust from the well-trodden road to adhere to him, almost like a second skin. The idea of needing yet another bath was an inconvenience, but he’d somewhat acclimated to this perpetual state of grime. After moving his bunny into a cooler, shaded spot with a gentle touch—fully aware that bunnies, unlike himself, didn’t take baths—he turned his attention back to his friends, who were caught up in their play. It was then that he spotted the guard approaching in the distance, rhythmically clopping down the street atop a horse with an air of authority. Panic tinged Jahree’s thoughts, and he scuttled to the nearest wall in search of a semblance of refuge. Despite his anxiety, he noticed that Lair and Remti, blissfully unaware of the imminent threat, continued their game uninterrupted. The guard, still conspicuous a few houses down the road, had yet to draw the attention of Jahree’s friends. “Lair, Remti, come,” he called out in a hushed, urgent tone, but to no avail; his voice was lost in the cacophony of their joyous play. Increasingly desperate, he raised his voice, “Lair, Remti, the watch, come!” Still, they remained oblivious to his alarm. The mounted figure was drawing ever nearer, and Jahree’s heart raced as he pressed himself into the smallest space he could find against the wall. In a final, desperate bid, Jahree crouched down and mustered every bit of volume his young lungs could project, sharply yelling to his friends. Visions of them being unceremoniously knocked aside—or worse, trampled by the imposing horse—flashed before his eyes. He knew all too well that his cries could earn him a swift reprimand, or even a painful reminder of the facility’s rules, but the prospect of harm befalling his friends outweighed his fear of punishment. And so he continued to yell, undeterred.