Helmsman
For years, I thought I hated children’s laughter. I had no idea I was just hungry.
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No children of my own, I thought they all laughed that way— teasing, cruel. Some poor scapegoat forced to ingest god knows what.
Cleaning the dormitories, scrubbing the blood from the shower walls, my stomach contracts like a fist around a blank coin.
Tomorrow, the soles of the state inspector’s shoes will squeak against spit-shiny floors. He’ll hear nothing else. But today
I move backwards down the corridor with the mop steering from side to side, its wet locks dragging an endless river of filth.
In response to twisted rib: “Secrecy imposed on the exposure of alleged child abuse”
Dave Bonta
SourceLicence:CC BY-SA 4.0