Z 2134

would need reminders of his past to carry him through.
    It was hardest on Adam when they took his books — relics from Before, which his father had collected and read to them both, but which Adam had taken a deeper interest in. Books were the only thing Adam had ever taken an interest in. He would spend hours lost in the old stories, so their father spent even more time, money, and general attention building their collection and giving Adam something he could call his own.
    As City Watch invaded their reservoir of treasured words, Adam tangled himself in sudden tears, scuffing his knees as his heart broke against the floor, begging the two Watchers in the tiny library to please let him keep some of his books.
    “I have nothing,” he sobbed. “My mom is dead and my dad is in prison. Please.”
    “No way, kid,” one of The Watchers said with a shake of his dark helmet. “These will fetch decent credits at auction.”
    Adam cried out, grabbed the box from one of The Watchers, then turned to run away, though clearly he had nowhere to go and hadn’t thought out his actions.
    The Watcher reached for his stick, and Ana screamed, “No!”
    She thrust herself between the two Watchers and Adam, who was clutching his box of books and crying.
    “He didn’t mean anything, officer,” she said, staring into herself reflected in the man’s black glass mask. “He’s been through a lot, and this is all he has. Please don’t hurt him.”
    She didn’t cry, though she wanted to. She had to be strong for Adam.
    Both Watchers were silent.
    Ana turned to Adam, “Please, just give them the box,” she said. “I promise, I’ll get you more books the second that I’m able.”
    She thought Adam would cry or argue, or point out that she couldn’t possibly afford to buy books, but his eyes met hers, and she could tell that he was afraid of The Watchers. Once they pulled out their sticks, they could probably do whatever they wanted.
    Adam handed the box to Ana so slowly that she thought he might change his mind, and then she handed it to the nearest of the two Watchers.
    The Watchers continued to say nothing, just stood there with their faces invisible behind the black glass. Ana was certain Adam had pushed things too far — The Watchers would be forced to respond by making an example of him. Rarely did Watchers allow a citizen to usurp their authority.
    She looked into The Watcher’s mask, her eyes pleading. “Please,” she begged. “He didn’t mean anything. He’s harmless, I swear.”
    The keeper looked down into the box of books, reached in with his black gloved hand, and pulled out two, then handed them to Adam and left without a word.
    Thinking of the moment, and the anonymous Watcher’s kindness, always sent Ana near to tears.
    That was the last day they lived in a place someone could rightly call a home.
    Chimney Rock was one of the largest buildings in The City, and maybe the ugliest. With a dark brick exterior, iron bars on every window, 30 stories, a large set of black iron double doors that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each, and the spiraling chimney that twisted to nowhere and gave the dungeon its name, the outside of the orphanage was the stuff of nightmares.
    Inside was worse.
    Someone had decided the halls should be painted black, since according to the State, other colors seemed to inspire “ill tempers.” And as if black didn’t lend to the darkness enough, the lighting in the hallways was often neglected, seemingly in a perpetual state of flickering.
    The bottom five floors were devoted to classrooms — orphans were taught in separate schools from the other children. To call what Chimney Rock offered school, however, was a mockery of education. It taught little more than basic skills to be a better worker, and little to no critical thinking. The sixth floor housed the kitchen and dining hall. The remaining floors were divided between boys and girls, grouped by sex and age. There were no bedrooms. Instead, there were giant rooms lined with two rows of beds, 20 on each side of the room, with each child given a trunk and a lock for the foot of his or her bed — the small box meant to harbor every one of their earthly possessions.
    Ana rarely saw Adam any more, except at dinner — when she returned from work in time — and occasionally on Sunday, when their schedule was mostly free. This wasn’t a kindness to the children so much as it was for the adults wanting a day away from the