Book Three

Tugging at my hair with that foul brush, mam plats my hair into two braids at the sides of my skinny face. I could be doing my hair, but she won't let me. She's always claiming that I'm too young. I listen to her humming a tune under the static of the tv and the rumbling of the earth. The words of the news blend with her song, lyric of war and a losing battle on all sides. 
     "Are we going to work today?" I ask. I want to make more friends!

School has closed for an "innumerabable time period." When school used to be a common place, mam would stay home and come pick me up from school. I could tell the world was changing. Getting "very very sick" as mam always puts it. It first started with things getting weird in class. My teachers suddenly changed their minds during the middle of lessons and said they wanted to teach current and "relevant" lessons. They'd tell stories about the war and what's really going with our "disease ridden world." When I asked mam about it, she said no one was actually sick. But that didn't make me feel any better. She still looked worried behind her smile. 

I became more distrustworthy when strange men and women dressed like the Principal came to our house. They were always dressed in wires and tangled in cords, and they were always whispering. When I walked up to ask one of the ladies why they were here, da laid his hand on my head and told me, "our disease ridden world has yet to be cured, my angel." 

But I know the truth. I learned it on a field trip for science class. Not all diseases have cures.