I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

Laughter can be beautiful, spontaneous. It’s one of my favorite
things to hear
because it is so un customary here. This laughter is anything but. It’s
premeditated, superior, and it falls from the mouths of children
beating Sam.
He covers his head instinctually, his elbows beneath his chin, arms
covering his ears. One of the taller boys without hair on his head
steps on his shoulder. Sam whimpers unwillingly, his teeth stuck
together, his muscles braced. The shelves cast shadows, the lack of
light outlining shapes and blurred actions.
Nothing obstructs the boys’ words as they spit cruel taunts. Where
are your horns and fangs? They hit him again when he won’t answer,
prop him up against the wall, and hold him down. Why do you get
your own room? Why do you get special treatment? A little boy, one
even younger than Sam, watches.
Don’t touch him, he says. He’s smaller than the rest, trying to tug the
older boys away, guilt on his tongue. Don’t touch him, he could kill
us. It’s dangerous. We could die. Sam flinches as if he’s been hit
again.
The boys aren’t done with him. A sliver of action, of life from him, is
enough to keep probing. Another tries to grab him by the collar. I
grab his hand and push him away. He stumbles back into his herd,
the other boys following.
I stand in front of Sam.
The children, two of them in hospital gowns, the rest in their own
clothes, are all sick, just as he is. The oldest will die soon. The pale
green of his skin is telling enough, and he’s been here the longest.
Another has more meat on his bones, but his wrist is shaky and his
eyes bulge. His fist is damaged from hitting. He swallows hard and
though I can’t tell you how I know for certain, I know he will pass
away within the next few weeks. The rest will leave soon, patients of