Michael Soll - Scorched

I walked through the crowd and passed some of my classmates. “What’d they look like, Joey!?” “Were their teeth as sharp as all the stories!?” “Did they attack you!?”

I answered the questions as best as I could, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about the bloodied boy who may or may not be alive. If he lived, it’s because I just happened to find him at the right moment. If he died, it’s because I didn’t act fast enough. His life was decided by my hands.

I walked passed the statue of Jacobson and Fiddler’s Fountain. I tripped over a loose brick by Cantor’s Steps. I’ll tell my father about it when he gets back and it’ll be fixed within the hour.

I got home and walked upstairs to my shower. I turned the faucet on and warm water dribbled down my face, but the water was only nice for ten minutes before it got cold. I was forced to get out of the shower prematurely and dry off.

I stood in my room, bored. I waited for the sound of the door opening so that my father could tell me whether the stranger would live or not. I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was littered with cracks. I had tried to count them on numerous occasions, but I always wound up falling asleep before I could finish. And then there’s always the heated debate every dozen cracks or so whether a crack is one or two and then I have to get up and get a closer look to see if there’s a gap.

I yawned. It had been a long and arduous day. Bryan and James and I had to check on the watermill clog. And then there was the whole strangers thing. I’m tired. Let’s see. One crack. Two cracks. Three. Four. Five…

I awoke to the sound of chatter below. I jumped to my feet and tiptoed to my door. Opened it a creak and listened in on my father talking to Riley.

“They aren’t NaNas,” said my father’s young and powerful advisor.

“Where are the rest?” My father stared at his inferior, waiting for a response. “Are there any more?”

“We don’t know. They speak a little English, but it’s difficult to communicate. They don’t appear to be a threat.”

My father picked up a soggy grape, disappointed at its less than perfect nature and tossed it in the trash. “That’s what the NaNas said about us.” He walked over to a skull encased in glass, teeth like daggers. Holds it up high. “And now look at them.”

“The NaNas were dangerous brutes. These children are savages but their savagery is predicated on naivety and not viciousness.”

“And where are they now?”

“The wounded boy is recovering in the ICU. The other two are locked up at the station. Should we kill them?”

My father took a seat at his desk. Sat quietly for a moment before, “We’re a civilized people. We don’t kill those who pose no threat. We’ll hold a charity event. An auction for each of our guests with all proceeds going toward the schools.”

Riley nodded. “I’ll let everybody know.”

“You go with him, Joseph. Since the topic so intrigues you.” He looked up and easily spotted me hiding behind the banister.

The City Center was the most crowded I had ever seen it. Nearly all 2,300ish people in town had shown up for the charity auction.

My father took center stage on the podium and quieted the raucous crowd. “My fellow Newburyians, thank you for coming out to today’s charity auction. As you have heard by now, my son Joseph discovered three strangers last week. They are no threat to us and should be treated as guests until they can be properly integrated into our society. We will be auctioning off each of the three to the highest bidder on the grounds that such person will take it upon him or herself to sivilize the savage. And let me remind you that all the money taken in today will go toward refurbishing our schools.”

The crowd cheered and my father waited a moment, absorbing the applause like the plants take in the UV light. “And without further adieu, our first savage is roughly 14 years of age and goes by the name Cotta . Please, welcome him to the stage.”

The crowd cheered again as the younger of the boys was escorted to the stage, chains around his wrists and ankles. “He would certainly be a great addition to any household. A strong and sturdy boy, no doubt can help around the house. Why don’t we start the bidding off at 100.”

“100!” An elderly woman (I forget her name) shouted gleefully, smiling at the prospect of welcoming a new member to her family.

“200!” shouted Thomas, a middle-aged botanist living alone in the East District.

“300!” squealed a little girl no older than 5, standing between her father and mother who happily encouraged their daughter. “So I can have a new big brother!”

The crowd awed. “I don’t think we need to go any further than that. Sold for 300 to the Wilkins. Come on up, Annie, and claim your new brother!”

The girl looked up at her parents who simply nodded. She quickly ran through the crowd and up the steps onto the stage and hesitantly stared up at the stranger before her who hesitantly stared back. “I’m Annie, your new sister.”

Cotta looked down and said, “Herble, wherel is brughets?”

She slowly moved her hand and touched the boy’s arm, then, leapt forward and gave him a hug. The boy didn’t reciprocate. He just looked down, confusion smattered across his face.

“First thing’s first,” the girl said as she grabbed his chains and dragged him offstage, “we gotta get you something nicer to wear.”

My father quieted the crowd once more. “Ladies and gentleman, our next savage is no older than 13 years of age. Please welcome to the stage, Kaolin !”

The crowd erupted as the teenage girl was escorted onto the stage. “Once again we’ll start the bidding at 100.”

“100!” shouted the elderly woman.

“200!” exclaimed Benson, the police commissioner’s son.

“300!” The elderly woman was not giving up so easily.

“500!” A middle-aged woman stood alone, staring longingly at the little girl. I had never seen the woman before, but there were many people in the city I had never seen.

“Do I hear 600? No? 500 to Meredith Washburn! Come on up and claim your Kaolin.”

The woman took her time through the crowd and up the steps. She stared at the girl and the girl stared back. Placed her hand in front of her. The girl examined the hand. “Come with me Kaolin.” She put her hand on the girls back and led her off the stage.

“And now, ladies and gentleman, the final part of our charity auction, he’s the oldest of the three, roughly 15 years of age. He’s recovering from an abdominal wound but has been medically cleared for the auction. Please welcome to the stage… Spec !”

And then, my wounded friend made his way to the stage. He looked around at the crowd, in total awe. He looked like a kid in a weddle shop.

My father put his arm around my stranger. “For continuity sake, we’ll start off at 100.”

“1000!”

The crowd went quiet as all eyes landed on me. I looked over and noticed my hand had skyrocketed to the ceiling and then I realized that it was I who had shouted the price.

My father looked at me like he had never looked at me before. I saw pride and anger and curiosity.

And then, after what seemed like a lifetime of that stare, he spoke up, “You heard the man, 1000 to my son, Joseph! Come on up and claim your prize.”

I tentatively moved through the crowd and onto the stage and looked at the boy. He was older than I but much skinnier.

I put out my hand, “Hi.”

He looked down at my hand and put his hand out as well and said, “Hi.”

I moved my hand forward and clasped his. Shook up and down. “It’s nice to meet you.”