It is another day like every other. I stand at the end of the line, holding my tray above my head. No one else needs to do this. Directly in front of me is another one my age, though much taller. Another 'rail unit'. I get my food and sit down. A lump of bread and some soup. I bite into the bread, but cannot chew it at all. I place it into the soup for some time, then try again. No one else needs to do this. Eventually I finish the bread. It has absorbed more than half of the soup. I drain the rest of the soup from the wooden bowl and deposit the items back where we return the trays.

Everyone eats their food in silence. No one speaks to me as I place the tray and bowl on the return stack. I go to the fireplace. It's crowded here. It is one of the three that provides heat for this building. It isn't that it is unbearably cold away from the fire, but it feels better for some reason. As I always do before sleeping, I check my gear. 3240. The number decreases by one every twelfth time I check. No one else does this. Every bit of space by the fire is taken already. I lie down on top of someone and go to sleep.

I vaguely wake up when they push me off. I repeat the process, lying down on top of other bodies to sleep. I am small so they don't notice me until they wake up anyway, and their bodies are warmer and more comfortable than the stone floor. No one else does this.

After five naps, everyone jolts upright at the whistle. We move into our positions. I stand in the first spot at the front of the formation, in the far left corner. Various units are called forward to spar. I'm too small, I would not be able to see if I was not in the front.

At some point, I am called forward. I pick up the training weapon on the ground. I'm too weak, I can barely lift it. I attempt to raise the weapon in my hands. My opponent brings their weapon down directly on my face.

I wake up at some point. I hurt all over, but it's only bruises today. Yesterday's are nearly healed already. I look around. Sparring has finished. When I look at the small windows mounted high on one wall, I can see that the sky is beginning to brighten. Slowly, I pick myself up from the ground where I have been sprawled, and straighten my patchy brown robes. They used to itch all the time, now they only feel like grit and dirt.

I move back to stand near a fireplace and check my gear. 3239. The small number flashes briefly above my forearm when I concentrate on it. It's just for a short instant, then it's gone. I continue to stand listlessly. Eventually, I feel a familiar sensation. I need to pee. I walk over to use the chamber pot in the corner. I wipe myself with the rag next to the pot. We all share it. I think it used to smell, but I haven't been able to smell anything in years. I return to my spot and wait. Eventually, the whistle sounds. Everyone moves to line up for breakfast. I wait as everyone else lines up in front of me. Once everyone else has gone, I follow up at the end of the line. When I reach the food table, I lean up over the edge of the table and grab my tray. I can barely reach it because I'm too small. Then I hold it over my head to receive my food like usual. The cycle repeats.

I can't chew my bread, everyone else can.

I sleep on top of the others, no one else does.

I try to spar, but cannot fight.

.

.

.

.

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Eat, sleep, eat, sleep, spar. Eat, sleep, eat, sleep, spar.

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This life has continued without disruption for years. I can never keep up, I am always too small, always too weak. It's always like this, because I'm broken. The only real change to this pattern are the lessons we receive from time to time. Like our combat instruction, or when we learned our numbers so we could look at our gear and know how much mana we have. Since then, we have learned a lot of math, which will be necessary for dealing with very large numbers later.

We have finally reached the point where we are nearly fifteen years old. From the explanation that was given at some point in our early training, we will finally be fighting once we reach the proper age. I can't count the time, so I don't know how long it will be from now until then. All I know is that it is much closer now than it was in the past. Thinking about this...

I feel something. Like a heat in my chest. Thinking about this worries me. Worry, that is this feeling. My mind begins to turn. I begin to think.

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I know I'm defective, I am too small. I cannot do what the others can do. It has always been like this, ever since I was broken.

I know when we go to fight, some of us will die. The handlers explained as much. I'm too small, and too weak. I can never spar well with the others. They just hit me until I lose consciousness. I know I won't be able to fight well enough in the real battle. So I'm going to die. It's something I know. I know it, but can't actually comprehend it. We are not supposed to die in battle, but I know I'm going to die anyway. We have been told by the handlers many times that we should not die in battle. Over and over. I do not understand why.

"Hey, why should we not die in battle?" I stare blankly into the eyes of another rail unit as I ask this. I do not know how long it has been since I last spoke.

It stands there for a while, as if it did not hear my question, but then it responds. "Because... we should not die in battle," This does not answer my question.

"Ah." I have nothing more to say to their response. Why not die in battle? Looking inside, there is no answer. It's what we've always been told.

Some part of my mind does not think that is good enough. So then: Why should I not die?

Ah, the question changed, how strange. If it is not in battle, then dying is ok, right?

No.

Why not?

Because dying is...

Dying is --. I wait. My internal conversation does not continue. Dying is something. I do not know the word, or how to describe it at all. It's just a... feeling. Another feeling I do not understand.

I get feelings, no one else seems to. Except for the handlers. On rare occasions, one will comment about feeling something. That is how I learned about worry. I understand worry, but there are all sorts of other feelings which I have felt bit by bit over the years, that I still do not understand how to express. Like vague movement inside me, different with each one. But no words to put them into, to give them form, to allow me to fully understand them. All I have are the handful of words that have unintentionally slipped from the handlers over the years.

Now that I'm thinking, I latch onto this question. I want to understand this particular feeling. I have... a desire. This is the first time this has happened. The first time I have felt 'want'. The physical desire to do something on my own, for myself. It is an entirely new experience, unlike anything in all the years of life up to this point. Until now, I have just been broken, unable to keep up with everyone else. Now, something has changed, there is something new.

Now I have a question. What is dying, and why do I not want to do it? I look around with fresh eyes. I see the others, and I see the handlers, as if for the first time. I try to keep thinking. I want an answer to my question. I will not be able to find an answer here. So I look around. Where else can I find an answer? There are only a few doors. There is one that leads outside. That is where I will go to search.

I go to exit the place where I have spent my entire life up to this point. No one ever said there were any rules or reasons why we shouldn't leave. No one had a reason to leave. Now I do. I can reach the handle without too much trouble, but the door is very heavy. I manage to heave it open and slip outside.

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I look around at the new environment. There are more structures of wood in front of me. There are people I have never seen before moving between me and those buildings. I hear sounds like metal banging from off in the distance, and the voices of people talking are so loud that I can hear them all the way from where I'm standing.

It's almost ten paces to where those people are. I can't imagine how much walking I would do traveling like that. After a short time, it seems that some of the people notice me. They all stop talking and look at me. Their faces seem strange. They are all twisted out of their normal shapes. Unsure of what they are doing, I attempt to mimic it, but cannot seem to make my face move like that. After a short period of time, they resume moving, but at a much faster pace now. I watch them walk, for the first time noticing how many people of different ages there are.

Then, I spot a number of people moving through, running instead of walking. They are much smaller, they look like my age, even though I'm too small for my age. Then are they younger than me maybe? I continue to watch all the people pass for some length of time. There are so many of them, in so many different shapes and sizes. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. They all do strange things with their faces as they move energetically and speak loudly.

Eventually the whistle sounds and I go back inside. But my days have changed, I now stand outside and watch people whenever I am waiting, which is almost all the time. Over time, I notice the number of people walking past decreases. Watching from one day to the next, their numbers fall and fall until one day, there is no one left.

There were so many of them, where did they all go? Then, a single person goes walking past as I wonder about this strange thing that has happened. I approach them to ask what happened to all the other people. The person looks at me as I approach, and then begins to run away. Why would they do that, I wonder?

I did not get a chance to ask my question. When I think about that, I feel something. Wait, I know this feeling. This is how I've been feeling for some time now. It's how I feel when I think about how I'm defective and how I can't do things that everyone else can do. But it's getting stronger now. Like a pain in my chest that won't go away. A pain I can't ignore like the bruises. The word comes, from the bottom of my memory.

Sadness

That's what this feeling is. I know it, and I don't like it. It feels bad. So why then, do I feel sad as I watch that person's back shrink into the distance?