When they first loaded us onto the train, Mama said we were going somewhere special, that only good little boys and girls were allowed to go there and we were invited. I felt a surge of excitement course through my body as we stood in the overly crowded train for the ride to the special place. I stood beside Mama the whole ride, holding her hand tightly. Jon stood on the other side of Mama, whining that his feet hurt and he wanted to go home. I glared at him, hoping Mama didn’t agree to turn back home because of his naughty behavior. She patted his head and looked straight forward, a distant light in her eyes.

            When we finally arrived at the special place, though I was exhausted from the trip, the excitement grew in me. The doors to the boxcar slid open and we were guided off the train. There were so many people at the special place, I looked for my friends to see if they had been good enough to get invited, but I couldn’t see anyone I recognized. Somewhere in the distance I heard shouting, but I couldn’t see past the knees of the adults that surrounded me. They must be pushing in line, I thought. Lots of people were eager to get in. I wondered why Papa wasn’t with us, but when I asked Mama, she didn’t answer or even look at me. I feared Papa wasn’t good enough to come to the special place, and that’s why Mama was so sad. Finally a space cleared in front of me, and I saw the gray walls stretching toward the sky and dirt swirling in the wind. This is the special place?

            They made us get into different lines, Mama said they had to check us in to make sure we answered the invitation they sent us, then we would be sent to our house and we’d be allowed to play and have fun. The men checking everyone in were loud, yelling, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I didn’t care, I was busy imagining all the wonderful things inside the gray walls that were waiting for us. After the man called our names, we were sent to another line, and Mama said we had to change clothes, because they had uniforms for special people, so they’d know who we are, she explained. We took off our clothes and slipped into scratchy shirts and pants. They smelled and itched, but I didn’t complain, I didn’t want to be sent home.

            We were pushed into another line to get into the gray walls. There are so many lines, so many rules. I still hadn’t seen Papa, or any other Papas for that matter. I saw lots of others my age, but none from school, and I saw other Mamas. I gripped my Mama’s hand tightly as we were lead into the gray walls. I couldn’t wait to see what they had in store for us! As we passed the gates, I couldn’t see much of anything, all the Mamas around us were impossible to see through. I heard a little girl crying somewhere in the crowd. I’m not scared, I can’t wait! The crowd began to thin out as smaller lines were made and the yelling men started shouting at us. As people gathered where they were directed, I caught a glimpse of the courtyard. My heart instantly sank. Where I expected bikes, balls, and hoops, there was…well, nothing. I saw gray buildings all lined in rows stretching across the courtyard. They didn’t have much of anything: two small holes cut into the concrete for windows and a wooden door, rotted and warped. There was a large gray building at the end of the courtyard with many windows of glass and a large fancy

door with special hand carvings in it. Cars surrounded the large building, and a few of the yelling men stood around, watching us from afar. Aside from the buildings, there were rocks and dirt, and more rocks. No balls, no hoops…nothing. What kind of special place is this? Mama said it wasn’t those kind of games, but a new game that we had to learn. I asked her what game, but she shushed me as a yelling man walked past us. The line that stretched in front of us began to move forward. “Anna,” Mama gave me a nudge to follow. We were taken into one of the gray buildings, and another yelling man shouted some more. Against the walls stood racks, small racks, about three layers, with blankets and straw laid out beneath them. I thought it may be some kind of chicken hut.

            Finally the yelling man stopped shouting, and everyone in the tiny room rushed towards the chicken stoops and crawled in between the planks. I stood confused for a minute, but Mama grabbed my hand and dragged us to a plank on the far wall. She lifted me, then Jon onto the plank and crawled in herself. She told us to go to sleep, that we would need our rest for tomorrow, when the big game started. I rested my chin on a ball of straw, but it was difficult to breath with the stench. Jon was practically laying on top of me and some man I never saw before was pushed up against my other side. I couldn’t move my arms, which were pinned at my sides. I looked around the room. Ashen faces peered out in the shadows of the planks of wood and straw. I spotted a little boy with dark curly hair and red tear stained cheeks. I saw a Mama clutching her chest as she whimpered into her fist. No one looked excited to be here. I soon got the feeling that I shouldn’t be, either.

            I woke up and rolled over, hearing the straw crackle underneath me. Mama and the other Mamas had gone to work and Jon sat up on his bed picking at the tattered blanket. “You hungry?” I asked him. He slowly nodded his head, and I pulled out the small chunk of rock hard bread we had saved from the meal of the last two days. The bread snapped as I strained to break it in half, then I tossed the larger half to Jon. He nibbled at it like a starving mouse. I picked gently at my half, trying to salvage what I could while still chasing away the ever present pain in the bottom of my tummy. I couldn’t tell if the nagging pain was hunger or worry. Mama had left that morning with a worried crease in her brow. Had she known I was watching, she would have done her best to hide it, but I opened my eyes a crack in the shadows. I memorized her face, but tried my best to remember what it used to look like, thicker, darker, instead of bony, pale, with sullen eyes, before drifting off to sleep again. Jon and I sat in the planks most of the day, every so often we’d play a made up game, running around the room, but we’d tire quickly and would lay back down. We never played with the children outside, they were mean. Even with everyone sleeping, the planks were becoming more and more roomier. I had hardly noticed at first, but people were slowly disappearing. The little curly haired boy, the whimpering woman, and Gina, the young girl Mama had made friends with, were no longer there. I didn’t want to think where they may have gone.

            That night, as people were flowing back into the room, I watched nervously for Mama, hoping she would not disappear this time. The last of the people stumbled weakly into the room, and still no Mama. Fear grasped my heart and caught my breath. I waited.

Waited. Waited. A dingy pile of rags staggered into the room and Mama’s face peered out beneath them. I jumped from my plank and ran to her open arms. She stumbled back from the impact and despite her thinning arms, her embrace was no weaker than it had ever been before. I thought it may seem stronger even. I smelled the scent of sulfur in her clothes, and another putrid smell I couldn’t recognize, but I pushed the thoughts from my mind, just relieved to see her alive.

            As I fell asleep that night beside her, her hand stroked my cheek. Though it was rough and scratchy, I welcomed the affectionate touch. “Golden slumber kiss your eyes, smiles await you when you rise, sleep, pretty baby, do not cry, and I’ll sing you a lullaby…” I drifted to sleep as Mama sang and stroked my face. I ignored the tiny puncture wounds on the tips of her nimble fingers.

            One day we children were called out to the courtyard and lined up. A woman announced that we would be going to the latrines, then to the showers and given fresh clothes. I actually shuddered at the thought of new scratchy clothes, I had just softened the ones given to me a few months earlier. Dust swirled around us as the late afternoon wind kicked up. I held Jon’s hand as we were led across the courtyard and past the fields to the latrines. I tried not to notice the living skeletons doubled over in the fields, struggling to remain on their feet by using their shovels as a crutch. As we passed a hole already dug, I glanced inside to find a rotting corpse-his worries were over. The wind whistled past my ears. We turned around the corner of the building. Dark brown spots covered the wall, some streaked down to the dirt below. In the far distance, I could see a mound rising from the ground. As the dust settled for a moment and the howling wind died down, I could almost make out the faces that peered out at me. I jerked Jon’s hand along, hoping he didn’t see them.

            I sat atop the specified latrine facing another little boy, crying from the strain of a bowel movement. Another little girl sat beside me, though I don’t think she was going. After we finished, we were lined up again and led to another gray building, off to the side of large lot that was included in this special place. The showers, I assumed, since I had never seen them before and quite frankly was ecstatic to see them. My stench was becoming unbearable even for me!

            We were led into a room with coat hangers and metal bins. The woman told us to take off our clothes and throw them away in the metal bins, then line up to go into the shower room. I undressed myself, then Jon, and took his hand as we joined the other kids in line. The woman opened the door and led us inside, lining us up in front of several silver spouts. The room smelled a little strange. Just age and mold. The woman instructed us to bathe well and when the water turns off, to wait for more instructions. She left, closing the door tightly behind her, and we stood expectantly staring up at the spouts. Soon, a groaning vibration could be heard approaching. It got louder. The spouts shook as water gushed towards the heads from the rusted pipes. A hissing could be heard amongst the hush of the room. I waited to feel the mist of the water sprinkle on my face, but smelled the scent from earlier, age and mold, stronger than ever. The mist caught in my throat. I choked, coughed, struggled to breathe. I gasped, trying to suck in fresh air but

only pulled in more deadly mist. My throat began to burn, my chest felt like it might burst if I couldn’t breathe fresh air soon. Tears welled in my eyes, but through the blur I could see the other children choking and falling to the floor. I tried to breathe through my nose, but no air came in, now my nostrils burned. I sucked and gagged, stomping my feet in frustration. My head began to throb. Slowly my vision began to fade and fuzz. My throat felt as if nails were puncturing through the thin membrane of my esophagus. My diaphragm thumped against my rib cage, shuddering, convulsing, ready to combust. I fell against a wall, scraping, searching for the door. My vision was nearly gone and the gas was burning my skin. My legs collapsed from beneath me, my hands continued to claw at the wall, scavenging for any escape. Grits of concrete gathered under my nails as I helplessly grew too weak to go on. I fell back onto the floor, my hand still groping the air, finding nothing. My eyes blacked out completely now, my veins were exploding in my temple, blood was dripping from my ears, foaming spit from my mouth. My hand settled on the body next to me. With my last dying strength, I held Jon’s hand. He was already dead.