THIS IS IT

The sun will set today like it did yesterday, and all the days before that, but it's not promised nor unprecedented. We just assume it will, or rather, we do not think about the possibility of therese. Because the now is so consuming for some, others are busy dreading or gleaming at their past. Others live for the future, and well, the end will come, uncalled for and unexpected, and it does not need to be a result of the sun's lack of setting. If you are no longer there, then to you, the sun's glorious presence is irrelevant, unimportant, however much it is the focal of existence to all the world we know, it means nothing to you once you are dead. Something so important and vital to the survival of all species and life we are aware of on this planet is so dismissive in the end. Funny, isn’t it?

----

Faking tears wasn’t the hard part, looking into my brother's eyes mid performance and not laughing is the challenge.

I stood in the middle of the busy plaza square, an orphan, 15 years old, with an 11 year old mute brother. I did not get many glances, not ones I’m supposed to be aware of at least. Passerbyers always try to look away from me before we make eye contact. I think that they think that if ‘I know’ they saw me, then that classifies them as having lower morals for not giving something compared to if they ignored me anyways, but  pretending they did not see. I guess it makes sense, but I am not oblivious to the way the world works as much as they think, and their moral redemption is meaningless to me. Little do they know, I actually have a pretty good hang on how wide my peripheral vision is anyway, it's a waste of their energy to try to hide their greed. But is it their responsibility to give to me anyways? Maybe not. 

Back to more pressing manners. I stood, imagining the sun shining on me only, a spotlight, and I started my act. I cried out, grabbing my hair, and pointing to my little brother. I hugged him, as he pretended to sleep on my lap, because he sucks at acting (sleeping is the best act he's at) and I can't look him in the eye without laughing, as mentioned earlier.  

I noticed a small crowd started to linger about, not close enough to be obviously watching us, but they were paused and facing us, this was my chance. I began to recite my rehearsed lines.

“Oh dear, dear brother, please stay with me. Whatever would I do without you? My little brother…” I put my face to his thick head of hair, and sob quietly. Then I do the final small act, my personal favourite. I do a quick scan of the scattered audience, and pick the most likely to cave. I am well trained in choosing fast and discreetly, if I do say so myself. I lock my eyes with an old woman sitting in a stroller, almost as helpless as I am, and I say my last words.

     “I wish there was a way I can help him, but no one will let a dirty young girl like myself work for them. I'm stuck, and I might lose the only thing I have left.'' 

With that, my scene is done. My brother shifts, and I sob into my hands, and start to mentally count down 15  seconds. I didn't have to, because at 9, I felt a tap on my head. This time, I was given more than I anticipated. Did I deserve it?

-6 months later-

     Sometimes life just sprinkles blessings on you. Be greedy and take it, what are you going to do otherwise? Sit around and question if you’re worthy? Nah, that is for unsuccessful people, although I admit I am among those occasionally. I justify it to myself by saying it's a sign of my moral compass working, but is it really? Who knows.

A chirpy deep voice calls, “Martha and Johnkwa! C’mon now. Granny doesn’t want to eat without you guys here and I can't eat before granny, it's rude. Food is getting cold!”It was Mark. He is the guy who was pushing the old lady on the stroller a couple months ago at the moment that changed our life. He is what one can call chubby, scruffy, and friendly, not to mention, our new legal guardian.

My  little brother Johnkwa and I rush out of our bunk beds and run off at the call for breakfast, eyes not yet used to light and limbs not exactly coordinated. Nothing in the world matters when you smell Mark's fresh maple syrup waffles on a Saturday morning. 

We got adopted by the loveliest people. They gave us a comfy bed, and enrolled us in school. We got fed, tucked into bed, told stories, and even given gifts as rewards for good grades or special occasions. All of this was at the small price of a few chores, and of course we cannot complain, anyone who lives under a house should have some sort of responsibility, I mean I guess they are teaching us so much about character and growth too. Everything was too perfect for so long. That's how I knew it would not be forever. Instead of preparing, I choose to enjoy the moments. Foolish. 

We gave Granny a kiss on her head and rushed to our seats, grinning at mark.

“You guys are started to love your sleep aren’t you?'' Before he continued, he made a playful face at Johnkwa, and a slightly more serious one at me. “Just remember, sleeping in late is not a good habit  kids, your brain will become rotten if you sleep too much. Now enjoy. It's the weekend anyways.”

Without further instructions, we don't waste a second diving into our food, and shoving our faces. Out of habit, I analyze and calculate without being detected, and I can tell that Granny wants to tell us to eat slowly, but resist the urge to tell us so. She still pitties us. She's a woman of few words, and when she does speak, it usually addresses our past lifestyle either directly or indirectly.

Although I haven't gotten to where I am today in the most honest of ways, I did come clean about it as quick as the second day we were at their care. They were actually understanding, and being honest and admitting it was rehearsed somehow made them love us more, especially Mark.

After running upstairs, showering, and dressing, we went to Mark to be given our daily chore. I never questioned the reasons behind the strange tasks at the time, I mean they were given by these righteous people who are so kind to us, not to mention where adults, and not underdeveloped malnutritioned, uneducated children. That is a lie. Of course I questioned and was diligent. I grew up on a busy street, although I did not know what happened in 1912 or what a mitochondria is, I was a smart person. My gutt, was always suspicious, but I did not want to believe it. The world, as it is, is not perfect, but because they are so kind and sweet and gentle, I always tried to see it as such.

“Alright, today, I want you guys to go put this apple with the rest of the apples in the grocery store. Can you do that for me?” we looked at him with our big eyes, I replied with a chirpy “of course” while my brother, being mute, eagerly nodded in response.

My first thoughts were to check if it's poisoned, and ask why they are giving it to a grocery store, don't they already have so many and were getting rid of them. Were they targeting someone? I was evil. I felt like a jerk. I mean who thinks like that about people who legitimately gave them a better life. 

Granny looked at me, her face smiling, the old lady smiling, her eyes pitiful, and calculating, yet warm and motherly. There is something these eyes say that I don't quite understand. I smiled at her, grabbed the apple from the mark and put it into my sleeve, and headed out with my little brother, yelling something about us being back soon. 

I looked at Johnkwa. He seemed happy, healthy. He's grown taller, gained enough weight to almost look healthy, and his skin is flushed and fit now. All my negative thoughts are pushed away. My gutt still bothering me.

We do as we are told, as easy as pie. We were former thieves and pickpockets, and giving things secretly was much like stealing, except with much, much less risk.  

--- 

Sitting in Granny's funeral next to my brother felt strange. The good thing about being an orphan from a young age, is you don't really have to worry about this feeling. There are not many people you have to lose, and loss is not much of the issue in general. What I felt sitting there, was what I would imagine losing an actual grandmother, maybe even mother would feel like. 

Johnkwa was always quiet, but not like this. My heart hurt deeper. His hand hasn't left mine since we heard, each squeezing as if if we stop, we wouldn't be able to hold each other next. We silently cried as the adults who apparently knew granny came and gave their condolences. Not many knew about us. Mark would tell them, and they would give us condolences. It felt odd, they knew her longer than we have, it should be the other way around, shouldn't it?

The cycle of short sorry words with tissues at hand and tears in eyes where given by people dressed in black for about an hour or so before someone who stood out came along. They still wore black too, just this person did not pass through Mark first, rather, if i’m reading him correctly, it is almost as though he's avoiding him- no, hiding. 

The strange man shakes my hand and says my condolences. His eyes seemed urgent, as if pleading with me for something, he left right away. With that shake he passes me a paper. Catching on to the idea of being sneaky, I put my hands around my brother like I have a couple of ties and put it in his pocket. 

The rest happened very quickly. I pretended I needed a moment, in fresh air, and stepped out with my brother. He passed me the paper right away, and I looked around before reading it.

Taking my brother's arm, I ran, faster and faster, and my speed and stamina did not seem enough.

--

You might be wondering what the contents of the paper were, and where did I go, and so on. All I can say is I have no time to explain it all. Here is a summary of what I found out.

• The note was written by Granny, it was delivered to a child she formally adopted, which was that strange man himself
• He is the only one who escaped Mark
• Mark held Granny hostage. He blackmailed and manipulated her, using her to lure children.
• Each year, 2 children ‘Mark’ has adopted are found dead on average.
• Joshkwa does not know this. I lied to him. 

Now, I change jobs every 8 months. I have a fake ID, and pass for Johnkas guardian. The stress has aged me enough to make it believable. Joshkwa and I do not spend much quality time anymore, it is a different type of silence. Him trying to hide his anger at me for not explaining, while he knows I have a reason. Me connecting dots of what Mark has made us, scared of being jailed or executed, because without me noticing, he made us awful people.