ELOY

9: Elloy

My ears are filled with buzzes, clicks, clatter, and whirrs of multiple sewing machines. Threads litter the tileless floor, and noise arose from busy hands and legs operating the machines including mine. Having dwelled in the voiceless noise for so long I'm haunted by these sounds in my sleep. It keeps me awake in the dark of the night while other boys sleep. Pulling myself from my old overused and depreciated bed is getting harder each day so much that the monk in charge of waking the boys always catches me trying to pull myself out of bed and therefore I get punished. 

I lean away from my machine staring at my bruised and rough palms from working all day and sustaining injuries that were not nurtured. Gathering my pile of finished sacks, I head to the store room where Brother Richard is waiting with a scowl plastered on his face as usual.

"I'm done," I say in a monotone. 

He is glancing at my work and goes thoroughly through each bag. A thud can be heard behind us, so we both spin around, another boy is down barely breathing. He tried to hang on I guess but the work was just massive, his sockets are a purple shade and his skin is very pale, he has a bandage around his head, and his body is lifeless, even his bony fingers will not twitch. Some boys are just dropping unconscious this past week, Brother Richard says is an endemic among the older boys. I hold back from imagining who will drop next. 

"We need another boy," Joel announces as he drags the unconscious body of the boy away, towards the exit. 

Richard smiles down at me with a mischievous look, the one that gives me chills and makes me hold back from throwing up. His orders are mine to carry out, that’s the level of justice for children like us.

Robert is shutting the doors of the halls while I stand beside him, having done the work of the latter until late, I missed dinner hour. Richard had made sure I finished up the boy's work and did so accurately. After working hours Robert will always close the hall with the keys before retreating to whatever he enjoyed or was assigned to do.

I’m walking over to the counter where some nuns are packing up, "Excuse me sister, I haven't eaten dinner. Can I have something?" I ask politely while staring at my shoes. 

"Well, where have you been? The other boys have eaten already. You're wearing a gray sweater so you're from the confined section." The average height nun says with a lot of attitudes.

"Yes," I say.

"Unfortunately, we don't give food to confined boys after 6:30 pm, now it is 8 pm. The lights would be out soon. Go, go and take a shower before you go to bed and come back tomorrow." She frowns. 

I turn around in disappointment and frustration over myself. My stomach growls loud and clear and I grip it fiercely. My legs are wobbling and my visions are playing tricks. I use the wall as support bringing myself to the hall where I walk to bed 68, I crawl in and curl as exhaustion overwhelms me and I fall into the cold darkness of nowhere. 

"Get up! Get to work!" A voice hollers and I hear multiple shuffling and groans. I manage to tear my eyes open, just in time to receive a smack on the face, I moan at the strike, my hearing is muffled and my body is heavier than usual. 

"Get up! Now!" A monk is yelling, I try to move my leg, my hands, or form a word. I can't, all I feel is pain and cold. 

My body is hitting the ground in a rough impact. I feel blood trickle down my nostrils but I don't feel the pain. I'm being dragged by the hair, doors are shutting behind us and suddenly water hits my battered body, jolting me awake. Brother Richard is staring right at me fiercely. 

I join the others and we start off with the cleaning and then helping the cooks, at this time cold sweats are cascading down my forehead as I steer the giant pot of soup. My hands and feet are throbbing, I'm starving and exhausted. I just want to pass out or cease to exist.