The Numbered hate the Numberless. The Numberless hate the Numbered.
" The Numberless are fifthly and different."
"The Numbered are spoiled."
Constant cold war against each other. Never going face to face, having no interest in each other.
But I do. I wonder, what is it like to have no numbers? What is it like with no home. I wish to meet one, go up to one. Ask about them.
But I can't, if I mentioned them or looked at them, I would probably get hit. Hit for being different. Abused by my parents, everyone. Because, then I would be different. They're different, and different is bad. And yet, I still wonder what is to be like them. Ever since the day I watched.
There I was, holding my mother's hand in front of the apple stand like we do everyday at 8 o'clock. Her buying 7 apples and me waiting to say 'Thank you' when we are done. But this day, I looked across the street.
A little girl, around the samee age as me of nine. Just staring to the the right of the cart. To the right, I follow her gaze to two boys around the age of 5 with dusty blonde hair and the same brilliant green eyes. They looked up, closely, to the sales clerk and my mother as they talked. When the sales lady turned to bag my mothers apples, and they went into action.
One slowly grabbed two apples and sneeked into the alley behind them. His dirty faced twin cafefully made the risk of taking more, moving his small fingers over the crimson apple. Risking his life, risking it for food. Trying for more, anything to live I suppose. Even if you could die.
He grabbed one and quickly ran after his twin.
I turned back to the girl and she was no longer watching them, but her grey eyes where locked on me. The one who saw the battery take place. But, there was more then anger in her hollow eyes. Hatred, pure hate for me. Not envy, just hate and discuss. I turned away quickly, just in time for me to grab my mother's hand to leave. Leave this terrible mistake behind.
My mother started walking away and I looked up to the blonde haired sales lady and smiled the best false smile I could, "Thank you." And I walked on, watching the girl as she hated.
Hatred. That's all there is between us. The Numbered and the Numberless.
I was lucky to have a hone, a family. But then again, maybe they are the lucky ones.
For we are dogs on leashes, and they are free.
