Bread… That was his name.

He gazed at the crackless, seamless walls around him. It was never-ending—a vast expanse of white. Reaching out, he pushed, hoping that it might budge, but it never did. He was stuck.

The sheets of torn linen in his hands were dyed pink with blood. It was only after the fact he’d realized that he had eaten glass. But he was hungry. What was he supposed to have done? It was pasty, tasteless even, and yet, the blood-soaked mush of crumbs was still the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten in his life.

Still, he knew this wasn’t right.

Why? With the small bit of life he’d lived, he started to question things—why was he brought here? Why did he have to go through this? Why couldn’t he find a way out? He was born under mounds of cold, hard snow ready to die at any moment, but he’d gotten out. He’d survived. He’d made it into a city with only food on his mind. He’d managed to come this far. How did he end up here?

Because I took his hand.

Empathy was for the weak. He shouldn’t have expected anyone to help, and yet, he was still here, suffering the consequences of his actions.

Bread stared out the window, watching the clouds roll by. It was kind of nice. His lips hurt, his stomach growled a little still, but it was kind of calming watching those fluffy clouds roll by without a care in the world. And he saw birds—migratory frigatebirds—flocking together, gliding through the cotton candy isles. He saw an eagle sail through the skies. They all looked so peaceful; it was so freeing to watch.

If only I could fly…

Then he’d soar through the sky out of anybody’s reach. He’d finally be free… But of course, that wasn’t possible. Common sense told him so. For just a moment though, he peacefully watched. And for just a moment, he forgot about his predicament. It was never this quiet when he was outside.

But then the door swung open; the room rattled ever so slightly. The man from earlier sauntered in with enthusiasm he’d never seen before. He moved past the table and clicked a few times on the wall.

The window disappeared.

“Wait!” Bread rushed over to the side that had once housed the rare glimpses of these wondrous, avian beauties. They were nowhere to be seen, covered now by another white, featureless wall.

“Enough with the sightseeing.” The man walked in with another tray full of food and set it aside on the table. “We need to get started. You can eat once we’re done.”

Bread stared, still confused and a little scared. He cautiously held his breath, watching the man’s every move.

The man sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt,” he whispered just loud enough for Bread to overhear. “I’m sorry.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The abrupt apology took Bread by surprise.

“This was all a rough start, but we need to get many things done. I hope you can comply with this request of mine. The sooner we finish, the better it’ll be for the both of us.”

Get things done? What was he talking about?

The man pulled out a popsicle stick. No, it was a tongue depressor. He knelt down and gently placed his hand on Bread’s jaw, readying to use the stick. “Say ‘ah.’”

Bread continued to stare. Was the man preparing to use the depressor on him?

“Say it.”

“A-ah…”

“Now, hold it in that position.” The man scrambled around inside his mouth with the wooden spatula. He couldn’t help but squirm a little. “Stop moving.”

He stopped.

“Good.”

As the man continued to work, poking and prodding inside his mouth, Bread could see him visibly sighing. Constantly. Almost every few seconds. The look on his face—he looked tired. His eyes were empty, hollow. No, not like the woman from before. He looked… lonely. Bread didn’t need his records to know. And because of this, he suddenly didn’t feel as afraid of the man.

“Whawaoing?” he mumbled.

“What?” The man pulled the spatula out of his mouth.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I’m checking the validity of your cranial nerves.”

Cranial... nerves? Those were all nerves and functions of the brain. “Why?” he asked. What did that have to do with any of this?

“Follow my finger.” He slowly moved his finger from left to right, and Bread instinctively followed his movements. “Good.” He then tucked the wooden stick away and pulled out a stethoscope from the depths of his suit. “Come closer.” He gestured for the boy to move in.

Bread did as he was told.

The man placed the metal bell onto his bare chest. The sudden cold jolted the boy upright, but the man felt around as if he hadn’t noticed.

It was intriguing the way the man worked. Why was he so focused on testing all these neural functions? What was the purpose of these checks?

“Why?” Bread asked again. The man stopped and stared for a while, eyes piercing through his own. He caught his breath.

“I provide you with sustenance,” the man responded. “Is that not enough?”

“It’s…” He then had a change of thought. “Can I go outside?”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

“So you’d rather starve?”

“No…”

“Then you can’t.”

“Why can’t I have both?”

“The world is unfair that way.” The man put the stethoscope away. An awkward silence fell in the room. He stood up, staring the boy down with intensity.

Bread nervously swallowed the saliva that was pooling beneath his tongue. Sweat started to form around his nose. He took a deep breath and asked a final time—

“When can I leave?”

The man motioned with his head. “Get up.”

He stood up.

“Jump.”

He jumped.

“Balance on one foot and swing your arms in a circle,” the man ordered. “Roll your neck around.”

Not knowing what else to do, he followed the man’s instructions to a tee. He wobbled a little, but easily regained his posture and continued on with the exercise. He didn’t have an inkling of an idea as to what these activities were for, and before he could ask or even question it more—

“That’s enough. Eat,” the man said. And then he left. Again. Just like that. He’d come like the wind and was gone the same.