It was Sunday, and he knew they would come; Today shelter was empty. Caregivers took kids (those who behaved well) to explore the city. They rewarded "Good behavior" with Sunday trips.

On these trips, they showed children city landmarks; mostly, the harbor that was crammed with various ships, from the fishers' boats to huge flagships. Thousands of people flocked to the port. Michael could smell fish and some other scent, although he never understood what this was.

It was interesting to watch the people move around. However, this was not the reason he loved going there. Michael loved admiring enormous ships with flying sails, rocking leisurely on the waves, adding to the peculiar beauty of the harbor, starting with the fishers' graceless boats and ended with refined frigates. He could not even tell what he liked most, probably everything from broken oars to the sails dancing in the wind. The beauty of the road started with pain and hard work and ended with freedom and dreams. Perhaps it did not end at all but only continued.

Maybe that's why the port was so alluring to him. It turned his life and dreams into one world. He dreamed about the frigates being there and fleeing away, and that is why he could stare at them for hours. Often imagined himself as captain, thinking about crossing the hazardous ocean together with his fearless crew, fighting the sea monsters and other captains trembling upon hearing his name.

Even though he lived with lots of children, he had no friends there. He had told no one that he loved gazing at the ships. The kids differed from him; they dreamed about different things.

They were always waiting for the day when someone would arrive and take them to the noble neighborhood and make their life carefree forever. Michael never dreamed about finding his parents, let alone living in a noble district. He was not interested in his parents. Probably in the same way they did not care about him.

Michael rarely thought about them, especially on Sundays, when he knew "they" would come and he could do nothing but wait. He hated waiting. That was the worst part about Sundays. Everything else always happened quickly. They beat him up when no one was around to interfere.

Deep in his mind, Michael had always planned to run away and hide, and if they still found him, he still would not resist. This way he would not get beaten up that painfully. But, at the last second, he always remembered that fearless captain who never backed down and stopped fighting. He felt, if he admitted defeat, he would lose something, something that was more important than avoiding the pain of the battered body.

Michael was lying on the upper bed of the bunk bed, waiting. This time it would be different. He was mentally prepared and determined from the beginning not to give up and not to get beaten so easily. It didn't take too long before he heard the footsteps. He swiftly jumped down from the bed. Standing with his back to the door, he leaned against the post of the bed, looking in the piece of a mirror standing on a windowsill. Michael could see the door open slowly and felt his heart throbbing so fast and loudly that it seemed to him the whole shelter could hear his heart beating.

In the mirror's piece, he could see first Derek, then Simon, Jamey and a stranger enter the room. "He must be the new member of the team and they are testing him on me", Michael guessed. Directed by Derek's gesture, the new boy moved towards him. Michael preferred any other guy to lead the fight, but he could change nothing now. He was leaning onto his bed, staring at the mirror, watching the opponent approaching him. He might be nervous, even scared, but he was still approaching. Others were waiting in the farthest corner of the room, smiling. "How slow the time passes," thought Michael. His heart was about to jump out of his chest. The boy was getting closer and closer. In the mirror Michael could see him lift his right hand, clenching the other. Michael clenched his fist, wrapped in the pillowcase. (Time flow was even slower now) The new boy stretched out his right hand, but before he could touch Michael, he slipped on the oil, spilled deliberately on the floor, and fell. Michael quickly turned around...

That night wind was howling. Michael was on the verge of vomiting. Watchman took kids back to shelter, but from where they did not remember. Only vomiting sensation remained. After that night, Michael dreamed an old dream. There was a woman in the harbor.

"Boy, boy," - she whispered. "Do you want fortune-telling?"

The caregiver was not looking and Michael nodded "Yes ".

"Come to my shop then" she whispered and turned around. The grass was everywhere in the shop and dried flowers. She unfolded strange cards on the table.

"Give me your blood!" demanded hag and took out a knife from counters.

Michael almost backed down, but still extended his hand.

"Hahaha! you seem a fighter but you lose always. You will win soon...

Was it a true win? Michael never knew, but he and the three boys were standing in front of the desk at Auntie Louisa's office, on the second floor of the shelter. The new member... he was not there. "I wonder how he is," he thought, newcomer turned out to be his namesake. The caregivers standing around the boys stared at them coldly. The head was sitting at the desk, looking at the boys with her frog's eyes from above, the pair of glasses perched on her nose. That's how it always happened - before she started talking about the boys' wrongdoings, she would sit at the desk with her elbows rested on it and glared at the boys without a single eye-blink. Michael wondered how she could do that without blinking her eyes for so long.

Auntie Louisa was over fifty, short and chunky with curly brown hair just showing a little touch of gray; with large wooden glasses always perched on her nose, her bulging eyes glaring from above them. The notable detail in her appearance was the thick mustache that she constantly fought against by plucking it vigorously, although the resistant mustache became more and more visible on her face. Michael enjoyed thinking about her mustache on such occasions, especially when Auntie Louisa kept gawking at them without blinking her eyes. Michael imagined the pleasure he would take from plucking her mustache and, in the heat of the moment, her thick eyebrows as well.

The door behind opened when he was trying to stick the plug up his right nostril to stop his nosebleed. The watchman muttered hello and reported that the doctor had arrived. Head stood up with difficulty, "Will talk to you later," still glaring at the boys, she waddled after the watchman. Michael secretly glanced at Derek, who was standing to his left and was much taller than him. You could still see feathers from Michael's pillow stuck onto his face. Two other guys were standing next to him. Michael once again wished that it had been these two who started the fight and not the newcomer.

The watchman opened the door again and told the caregivers in his typical hoarse voice to take the boys downstairs and left ajar after him. Others followed him, one caregiver leading the group, while the other stood behind the boys. They passed by the second-floor hall, climbed down the disturbingly creaking stairs, and entered the room where Auntie Louisa had been waiting for them. There were three other people in the room- the night watchman, a slim stranger, and the "new" boy being examined by the stranger.

As soon as the boys entered the room, Auntie Louisa round turned to them and studied their faces attentively. "Look what you've done," barked she, pointing at the boy. "Look what you've done!" Michael looked at the "new" boy while listening to the doctor explaining things to Auntie Louisa. He could feel a burning feeling in his stomach. He wanted to avoid his eyes, but he couldn't. Michael stood like that for some time, maybe not even for that long... he could not remember, he had lost the track of time. Then the slim man stood up and left. Auntie Louisa turned to the boys and asked each one of them, "Who did this?" Nobody answered. She slapped Derek Simon, too.

She did not slap Michael.

She did not slap Michael.

Nobody said a word. "You will get a severe punishment for that", Aunt Louisa threatened. "They are arriving soon and you are going to be punished in front of everybody". Kids were about to come back from a Sunday trip and that these guys and himself were going to be publicly and exemplarily punished. He might have contemplated the punishment some other time, but now he couldn't help staring at the newcomer and that was all he could do.

The cracking of a whip and dreadful screams reached him simultaneously. Derek endured nine whips, but screamed in pain on the tenth one, louder than any other boy before him. Jamie screamed at the first beat, whereas Simon forbore till the sixth when he screeched and howled, but no one screamed as dreadfully as Derek. Observing all this, Michael could not stop wondering when he would give in and start screaming.

After the twelfth whip, caregivers dragged Derek out of the shelter yard. It was Michael's turn; the watchman stepped towards him, but Michael approached him first as he did not want to be dragged away like other boys. When he walked up to the pole, he kneeled, and when the watchman tied his hands to it; he wished he could at least endure the first whip. He no longer had nostrils plugged and could already sense the stinky smell of the man. The hatred was a familiar emotion to him, but he did not yet know what to call the feeling he felt for the glass-eyed children staring at him.

The whip slashed through the air, and the pain spread like a stripe on his back. "Screaming won't change anything, screaming won't change anything," continuously repeated Michael, and silently endured the pain caused by the fifth whip. Then he started scratching the wood with his nails from excruciating pain but never made a sound.

"Whip him until he yells," screamed Aunt Louisa, and the anger guided Michael through the pain until everything faded into the darkness.

The pain woke him up. The stripe on his back was burning like fire. It was chilly in the shelter, which made Michael shiver with cold. He had a thick blanket on, but still could not get warm enough. Every movement made his pain even stronger. Without moving, however, it was almost impossible to stand the bitter and unbearable cold. Michael felt dizzy and could not get rid of the nauseating feeling.

It was the second night since he had regained consciousness. He was half awake and half deluded and did not know what was happening around him. Michael was suffering from a fever but could not force the caregivers to send him to the doctor. Auntie Louisa never brought doctors for whipped children...

The creaking door made him aware of someone entering the room, but his mind was so shrouded in darkness that he could not tell whether a familiar body was standing in the doorway or not. The person was moving slowly and painfully, but in the end, he reached for Michal and stretched out something to him. "Drink it!" Michael heard from far away and discerned a shape of glass in the stranger's hand. The weakened Michael almost dropped the glass, but the visitor helped him and Michael sipped some liquid.

The blunt liquid burned down his throat and Michael felt the heat in his stomach, too. The back pain died out as heavy eyelids drew over the fading walls like shades.

Sleep drifted him far away. He thought he dreamed of something, but he could not recall what he had dreamed about waking up. Michael hardly ever remembered his dreams, even though he always knew he had dreamed about something important. He could only perceive the significance of his dreams for several seconds and after that, they turned into memories.

The back did not hurt Michael that much; he was not cold either. Despite the still persistent dizziness, he felt much better. He sat upon his bed. There was no one but him in the room. He remembered someone gave him the drink. Although his mind was still hazy, it could not have been a dream, it did not seem like one, though Michael could barely remember his dreams, anyway. Michael touched his own back and felt some herbs stuck to it. He was feeling much better; it was impossible to recover so fast without medical help.

- So the answers lay in the herbs and the drink that the visitor gave me.–thought Michael.

No one had ever helped Michael in the shelter and now, when he was searching for the reasons for someone helping him, he felt an extremely unfamiliar emotion that people call gratitude. Why would anyone want to help him, asked Michael himself endlessly until he realized that only by sitting there and asking questions to himself he would not get the answers? He climbed down from the upper berth of the bunk bed with difficulty, put on the clothes scattered around the room, breathed deeply, and staggered towards the door. He then walked down the hall with faded brick walls on one side and the boys' dormitories on the other. Michael stopped at the door where the new guy was sleeping, then opened the door carefully and stared at him for a while.

"What do you want?" the new boy, with a bandage around the head, did not open his eyes. He must have felt that someone had stopped at his bed and was watching him.

"Was it you who gave me that drink?"

The kid did not answer; he was lying quietly with his eyes closed and breathing slowly.

"Michael!" He heard his name shouted in the hall and quickly closed the door.

"What are you doing here?" The caregiver's tall figure appeared from the corner of the hall and approached Michael. The caregivers wore similar clothes in the shelter. They were all tall and slim, except Auntie Louisa. Michael wondered how they had gathered all like-minded bastards as caregivers.

"What are you doing here?" She repeated.

"Nothing. I felt better, so I walked a little," answered Michael.

The caregiver cracked the door.

"You should feel remorse," she interpreted the boy's actions herself. "Lets' go! If you feel so good you have to attend the academy." The caregiver headed for the exit of the shelter after they had climbed down the creaky steps. They went out into the garden.

Academy, the old brick building, standing next to the shelter, was in no sense better in appearance if you asked for Michael's opinion.

Attending the lessons was compulsory for children. They listened to boring subjects all day long, so Michael did not enjoy going there. He crossed the yard together with the caregiver and entered the stone hall crammed with kids. Suddenly the hall went deadly silent. Surprised at this silence, Michael first looked at the children, then at the caregiver. Everybody stared at him weirdly, perhaps surprised, but he could also feel something different, something he could not identify. They stood like this for a while. Then the teacher remembered to permit him to sit down, and she pointed to a vacant seat with her stick.

Michael tried to listen to the teacher but in vain: she was boring, talking about some tedious things. He could not understand why he had to learn about the history of the Arc De Ludgar family, why they were rightful monarchs, while other people (apart from their Lords) were to be their obedient servants. On top of all this, they forced people to be grateful for their lot. Why did Michael have to sing their anthem after each lesson and why was Lord Ryan the selectee of omniscient Rahail, when Lord Ryan's father had killed the legitimate heir and forcibly took over the throne? If omniscient Rahail was omnipotent too and he only had one favorite selectee, why would he give the Royal throne to him? Michael understood few things, but he was clever enough not to ask questions. He could only think freely and used this freedom as much as he could.

Michael sat on the chair until the teacher stopped talking and they all sang the anthem together. Next, the kids headed to the hall exit, and he mingled with them, trying not to run into Derek or other boys. He knew they would not dare attack him in the daylight, in front of the teachers, but still...

Most of the kids usually spent an hour's break in the garden. A solid stone wall surrounded the garden so that one would not even think about escaping. Maybe that's why caregivers paid little attention to the kids playing in the yard.

Michael loved being on his own, so he walked to the wall. He leaned against the white brick wall; it felt cold; he then slipped down and slumped on the ground.

"She was my sister", said Simon and his chin trembled.

"I know", replied Michael with a lump in his throat. He had not finished the sentence when he saw the right fist coming his way, however, he did not move. This blow was unusually slow compared to the previous ones, but still...

"Stop it, Simon, it's not his fault at all", Derek sounded as if he was angry with himself. This was the first time he had ever said anything in Michael's favor. The first and the last time...

Michael felt the firmness of the wall, and he looked ahead into space. Remnant winter clouds covered the Sun in the spring sky. Huge sycamore trees behind the shelter swayed in the wind idly, still giving off the cold winter smell. The faraway building domes could be seen between the waving branches of the trees. The domes radiated something wintery, something that could barely blend into spring. Suddenly, he wished he were in the harbor. He wished he could watch the sea waves and let his feelings sail into the open sea with them...

Elaina was picturesque that night. She had bluish, slightly scared eyes. Her leaf-colored hair was slightly tousled after a nap. She looked slim and transparent in candlelight.

"Only these have blue eyes", Louisa's emotionless voice was heard distinctly. "He has excellent features." the hand turned up Michael's chin, "but today I need a girl"- the stranger was holding the walking stick in his right hand...

Still sitting on the grass, Michael felt a chill. Shivering violently, he walked away from the wall and headed towards the shelter. There still was some time left before the lesson started. An ugly building, one of the ugliest buildings, was empty. Most of the caregivers were in the garden, not afraid of getting caught. Michael ran down the corridor and opened the door without knocking.

"It was you then", Michael no longer asked a question to the boy with a bandaged head, lying in bed. The boy opened an eye which was green and deep and without saying a word, he closed it again. Michael walked to the window. He stood quietly for some time, then turned around and walked back to the door.

"Why didn't you scream?" the question made him stop in the doorway.

"What?"

"When you were being punished... I was watching from the window. Why didn't you scream?"

"I don't know... It's not that simple to explain..."

"I think you do." awkward silence followed these words, disturbed by the slammed door.

"Where do you sneak off to?" Elaina asked him for the first time. She had just arrived at the shelter and had not even been to the Sunday trips. They went off to the harbor and Michael wandered away from the group with nobody noticing it; at least, that's how he thought...

He was lying on the bed, still fully dressed. It was cold. The spring had set in only on the calendar; darkness and biting chill were peeping through the window. The moon rarely escaped from under the thick clouds and if it did, it soon hid behind them again, as if it had seen something embarrassing. There was something that disturbed Michael, something that had nothing to do with the cold.

"May Rahail, dammit!" Michael muttered quietly and got up. He quickly put on his shoes and opened the door. Although the hall was lit with candles, the light not bright enough. He slowly strolled down in the pale, flickering lights of the dimly lit hall. Leaving the room, he realized it would be difficult to find the right door. He was not sure whether it was the third or the fourth door, and reaching the far end of the corridor, he counted the doors from there. When he approached the third door, he listened to the noises behind it. He could hear people's breathing, which meant it was not the right room. He crept to the fourth door, stopped and listened again, then carefully opened and then quietly closed it behind him.

The light pouring from the window was so faint that Michael could hardly see the shapes of the furniture.

"I know you are not asleep," said Michael softly.

"Why are you here?" He heard the question also asked in a soft voice.

"You asked me something today!"

"Yes, I did."

"It's difficult for me to answer..."

"I know, at least try..."

"It's a long story..."

"Start from the beginning."

And Michael started...

He did not start with the episode of the fight. He started from his Sunday trips and ships. Then he mentioned a girl named Elaina, connecting the fights to her. One night that girl was taken from the shelter...

Michael realized he had stood up while talking. His voice was trembling, and he felt a lump stuck in his throat. Despite the tremendous effort, it was extremely difficult to hold his emotions back.

He continued talking about everything that was happening in the shelter. He told the boy how once every month someone would come to the place and take the girls of 12-13 away.

The caregivers knew everything but did nothing to avoid it. They punished kids for slight misbehaviors by making them stand on grains for hours...

"That's why I did not scream then." Michael stopped talking. This silence gave him the feeling of both emptiness and freedom. Michael waited for a while before he noticed he was sitting on the stone floor again. When he was about to stand up, he heard the other boy speak "My name is not Michael, I am Lucius. I just read that name on the list and gave it to the caregiver when they asked me."

Still sitting on the floor, Michael looked up at the bed.

"Why did you lie?"

"It's not that easy to explain," he smiled.

"Try it," replied Michael.

Lucius did not explain himself that night. The silence continued for a long time. Michael got up from the floor, walked to the door, and slowly opened it so that he could sneak out, but before he left he asked calmly: "Why did you come with that trio to beat me?"

"I wanted to feel something, but it didn't work out for me."

There was a scream, the morning scream, slightly different from all the other sounds. Michael had not slept that night and in the morning he heard this loud scream, the sound somehow similar to the shattering of the glass, or rather, to the window pane breaking in the empty house...

That night, or that morning, to be more precise, the whole shelter was up, both the caregivers and the children. Michael tried to make his way down the crowded corridor. The scream had already quietened down, but he instinctively knew which way to go.

The sun had already risen and its rays, pouring through the window, brightening up the room. Michael could see a sheet hanging down from the ceiling like a rope and on this rope. The open eyes were tinted blue, and the body looked slim in the sunlight too... thus it can't have been because of the candlelight...