[Officelover]

I don't know if it was fate. I don't know if a certain librarian held a grudge against me for getting the Child to leave in the first place. But for a moment I blinked and tried to process what had just happened. During this whole process I had been a little skeptical. I felt like I knew the old Child so well, better than anyone... how could someone else be the Child? How could I be the Child? That librarian must have lied about me! I would be punished in vain!

A million seamless thoughts spindled through my mind.

Someone in the crowd looked at me, quietly, as everyone shouted, “Find it!”
The instinct to run came through me. I tried not to draw attention to myself as I walked through the crowd, shouting to blend in. Once I was a street away, I made a run for it. I made my way back to the sewer, went down the ladder, and put my head down to sob.

“It isn't fair!” I shouted, “I'm not evil. Why me?” I didn't understand. It went against everything I was taught. I was taught to love myself and to realize that all of my evil was bundled up in the Child. How did all that evil find itself in me?

Maybe the Chile has corrupted me, maybe that’s why the librarian was so upset when I kissed it. Maybe I had made a subconscious decision to let it corrupt me, let it trick me all along. When I kissed the Child… maybe it spit all its curses into my mouth. I was furious, and I kicked the nearest rat I saw into the river.

I stayed down there what felt like three days in the dark. (It was only a little more than one.) I was trying to make sense of what had happened. I only got more confused. For a while, I hated myself. I thought that I should have stayed away from that Child and that it was my own fault; I really did deserve to be the Child, because I had let evil infiltrate me. But... no. I strengthened my resolve to put such thoughts out of my mind. Shitface, my Shitface, was not evil. He was the most fascinating person I knew, and I could talk to him more than I could talk to anyone.

After that maddening time in the dark, I knew I needed food, drinking water... light. So, I made my way up the ladder, and tried to remain hidden in the spots he'd shown me. I stole food, for the first time, where the Child ha taken it before. I nearly swallowed the bread whole, eating while standing up. I had to ask myself, “Is this what I've already become? A thief? Maybe I am evil, after all.”

But I knew I wouldn't have stolen if I thought someone would have given me food.
I didn't know where to go. The safest place to go would be home; my parents wouldn't turn me in. Not after all they had done for me.

So, I waited in the shadows for the sun to fall. A few hours later, and it was dark enough to go. I walked quickly, through the twists that the Child had taught me. The Other Child.

When I got home, the kitchen light was on. I went around back, careful not to be seen by the neighbors, and knocked on the back door softly. After a minute or two, I saw my mother pull the curtain to see who it was, and immediately she opened the door, nearly pulling me in. The first thing she asked was, “Did anyone see you? Where have you been?”

“The Sewers,” I answered honestly.

“The Sewers!” she said, with disgust, as we walked into our darkened living room. She stared at me a while, and said, “Then, it must be true. You must be the Child.”

“What do you mean? Mom?”

“To think, I’ve spent sixteen years of my life raising a monster.”

“Mom! I’m not a monster, I’m your daughter. Why do you say I’m a monster?”

“Only a wretched soul could live in those sewers. All this time, Yalda, that you spent with the Child. I was so proud of you. I thought you were saving us, one blow at a time. I shouldn’t have let you spend so much time with that fucker, he brought the evil out of you. Did he show you the sewers?”

I didn’t want to answer, but I felt honesty was the best choice here, so I nodded. “I thought so, “ she said, “I just can’t believe it. I can’t understand it.”

“Mom,” I pleaded, “you know me. I’m not the embodiment of evil, am I? Obviously, that librarian, conspired against me—”

“Don’t spread your lies! I can’t believe you.”

“When exactly, mother, did I become the child? When I was still your daughter? The moment the Child ran away?”

“I don’t know.”

“But, Mom, you know I’m not really—”

“I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what I know.” She started crying. She collapsed into a chair. Evidently, the sound must have awakened my father, who came downstairs, turned on the light, and saw me.

“You’re back!” he said, shocked. “What did you do to my wife?”

“Your wife?” I retorted, “She’s my mother.”

“Well, you’re no child of mine,” he answered, “you’re The Child. Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to this family? We used to be respected, just as respected as any family. People won’t talk to us now. When I set up the bakery yesterday, not a soul came in to buy from me. Why did you do this to us, Yalda, after all we’ve done for you?”

“But, I haven’t done anything—”

“Haven’t done anything?” My father roared, “Then what do you call your mother’s tears?!” My mother only sobbed harder. “What did you come here for? What do you want to take from us? We’ve already lost our friends, my business. Have you come to take our lives?”

“Dad, I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well,” he said, approaching me, “I never meant to hurt you either.” He punched me, right in the eye. He pushed me up against a wall, and started kicking me hard. By this time, my mother seemed like she wanted to intervene, but she sank back down in her chair, too traumatized to speak. She was calm, as he pulled me out the door, into his car, and sped toward the library.

I don’t think I ever saw my mother again, after that night. I saw my father again, many times. But words couldn’t describe the animosity he felt toward me, the brokenness within me, as we drove together for the last time. When we got to the library, that temple of knowledge, we parked out front and he realized that the librarians would not be inside. It was too late in the evening. So, he drove to the police department—a tiny establishment, really, they hardly ever needed to be called upon—and barged in the door with me in his clutch.

“What’s the problem, sir?” One of the officers said, nervously.

“I have The Child here. She was hiding out from us.”

The policemen looked at each other, and smiled at me. “Where did you find her?”

“She was my daughter,” he said, “and she came to our house.”

“You did the right thing, bringing her here,” their leader said. “We’ll bring her to the proper authorities in the morning. In the meantime, Chapa, can you bring her to the cell?”