Part One:
The Days Grow Shorter
Ogozaly/Human Hunting/- 6 -
Chapter One-The Days Are Numbered
-Matthew-
I stepped onto the hard, cold ground. It was freezing. Or, more accurately, I was. The cold morning frost lay peacefully on the leaves below me, and a sweet crunching sound came from them should they be were stepped on. The sun was just peeking out over the horizon, like a toddler dipping its toe in the water to check the temperature. The wind was still.
Jennifer, otherwise known as my mother, would be up soon. This time, as the first rays of light warm the ground, is the only time I can be alone.
I hate this life. The horrible life I live. You should know that, of course, I do have some good reasoning behind that statement. I have lots of good reasoning.
My life – the horrible part, I mean – started just four years and thirteen days after my birth. Jennifer loved me then. Still does. Loved me more than anything. I was her only child, and she had kept me as long as she could. But the people (and I’ll get to them) came, and they tried to take me away. For good.
I’ve read old books, preserved, that show that kind of thing happening. Usually the child ends up back with its parents, thanks to the police, the determined parents, and whatever other miracle decides to show. My case involves police, though not like the books describe them. And I have determined parents. They are just like the ones in the books, better, even. So I love them. They love me. And I wish, with all my heart and more, that I could say, right here, end of story.
But I can’t.
Ogozaly/Human Hunting/- 7 -
Chapter Two-The Backdrop
-Matthew-
The people who tried to take me away were called Recyclers, and they are a common sight in neighborhoods, like cockroaches or ants. They resemble scientists, with their white lab coats and stern faces, but they have a much different purpose. Whenever you have a naughty child or are grumpy or for whatever reason, don’t want your child, they are there. To take the child away.
Poof. No child. See me now, now you don’t. Gone. Without a thing left to remember them by.
I remember, just once, probably right before I turned four, seeing the process. It had been a cool fall day, the kind you want to savor with some smores and a bonfire. Leaves, similar to the crunchy ones that surround me now, were all over the place. There weren’t many houses. It was a rural area. Nothing special.
On that day I was outside, playing in a pile of leaves. I was having a great time with it, too. I would painstakingly pile the leaves into a perfect pile, get a running start across our porch, and then jump right into the thick of it. I was so short that if I landed right you couldn’t see me.
Then, just as I was combing the yard for some fresh leaves, I heard something. In my toddler brain, I knew it wasn’t any leaf, but it didn’t sound like the usual person either. The dogs and cats didn’t make that sound. It was, as I would later learn, yelling. The source was Mrs. Tully, who lived right next door. I found her in the middle of disciplining her son. She was screaming about how horrible he was and how there were better rats for sale out there. He just sat there, stunned. So did I.
After a few minutes, I guess Mrs. Tully had her full, and she stormed inside. I noted that her son was still outside.
Ogozaly/Human Hunting/- 8 -
“What happened?” I whispered to him. I felt like I was on an adventure. He was a prisoner of the evil dragon, and I had to rescue him. Or so my four year old self thought.
His reply came a few seconds later. “Nothing.” Well even I knew that was bull, and I told him it.
“You go away,” he responded in a mocking tone. “Or I’ll get my mother on you.” He was bigger than me, even if he was a bit younger, so he could have taken me down. But he didn’t. And I still wonder why.
Mrs. Tully came back just a few moments later, and I had to hide. She very gently told the boy to come inside. He listened. I figured the show was over and headed back to the front yard for some more leaf jumping. So I jumped and jumped on the leaves until they were pretty much brown goop. And then the Recyclers came.
It’s not like they come all melodramatically, like stiff robots carrying guns. They walk, they talk, they laugh, and they smile. No weapons are visible. Unlike most government positions, they dress fashionably, compromising the white lab jackets with scarves, hats, glasses, whatever.
So I got the impression that there was a party next door, all those fancy people heading up to the house, and then Mrs. Tully graciously welcoming them in. I liked parties. So my toddler self went up and knocked on the front door. In our neighborhood everyone is usually invited to parties, so I thought my invite might have been misplaced.
Well, the first one to answer was Mrs. Tully herself, and she looked absolutely jovial. So I filled her in on how my invitation must have been misplaced and how I would be happy to find it for her. S
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