The Snow Runs Into the River

"Why am I here?" I asked again, although everybody seemed to not hear me, again.

"Now, you'll be sleeping in this quarter," The nurse is in white. Everything is white here; even outside. It's a blizzard. I've never even seen snow before.

You can see the ice glittering in the window, from the fluorescent lights. The sun isn't out; I haven't seen the sun since I had to leave Japan.

Wyoming was plain, even in it's best pictures. The grass is never green; it's a stout, dull brown in the summer and pure white in the winter. The lack of seasons was only the beginning of alarm for me.

As we went over the blizzard in the airplane, I could see all of it. Or, in a more correct form, none of it. There was nothing. The trees were stubs, any form of life hidden.

And then we'd arrived at the hospital. The interior of the building, despite it's largeness, held about the same amount of life as the outside world surrounding it. I'm sure if someone lit a match, the entire thing would light up; everything in here was as flighty and thin as a piece of paper.

It wasn't the hospital you saw in books, or movies. Not that kind of cold, white, emptiness. No. This hospital seemed to be actively avoiding the sting of life, not like it's brothers, who just didn't feel it. The air was shallow, like it was testing how little we needed to survive.

"Are you going to be comfortable here?" My beloved mother, bless her waitress heart, was astute, if not blind, to my emotions. My face can only express so much, I suppose. She can't sense these things, though. She needs to be told directly, something I learned long ago. That's what makes her so great with my dad.

They say that 90% of communication and contact is non-verbal. My father apparently thinks differently. Everything he feels, he says. His face is as blank as his mind; I don't believe I've seen his eyebrows move from their resting spot on his forehead in my whole 19 years.

He would fit right in. I, however, would not.

"Ma," I said, my voice turning pleading. I went to begging quicker than I thought I would; I usually can negotiate my way out of things quicker than I can beg for them. "I can't stay here, you know that."

"We're already here," My father said, "We paid the money."

"Jay," My mother said. She briefly touched my hand, before retracting it and looking up at me. "Kenji," she said.

"Ma," I said, playing up my Japanese accent. My mother was the one originally from Japan; my father moved there from Germany when he was seventeen. The only reason I spoke English was because I was a bastard child; my parents were exiled from the village. They could only find work in an English-speaking community. They had to abandon all tradition and trace of religion, and learn the "language of the world." "Ma, meine Englisch ist sehr schlecht, I would - nicht - speak it vary well."

"You were the top of your class," she said reprovingly, "You know enough to know what anybody would say here. And even so, Jay (I don't know why she calls me that. It's pronounced 'jigh.') we would hire a translator. We will help you learn."

"You'll be happy here," the nurse added unhelpfully. The hell? She's basically been a stick against the wall, and only now when I want to back out does she say anything?

I am sent into a tailspin. Although I don't deserve to be here - I don't belong here - I say, "All right. I'll stay."

You would've thought a fly flew past, my parent's expressions were so stoic. They were sending their bloodline to a mental hospital in Wyoming, in the United States of America. Kenji Zimmermann, the man of many nations.

The goodbye was short; the hugs nonexistent. We didn't hug. My mother did pat my dirty blonde hair, but that was the extent of the affection. They had a flight to catch.

As I nodded to them as they left, I couldn't see anything but the snow. The snow, the snow, the snow.

I could feel it just looking at it; running down my back, chilling my spin, making my skin turn an ugly red. Even having been in the cold for hours, I shivered for the first time.

I turned back into my room, grabbing onto the post of my bed. I swayed myself, enjoying the quiet. I suppose that was one nice thing about the snow; it didn't fall like rain, hard and unforgiving. It was gentler.

I grew hungry after giving up and sitting back on my bed. I looked around for a button to press, for service, but they didn't have one. Did I have the freedom to walk around the lobby? By myself?

I tentatively stepped out into the hall, looking at the other doors, varying from gray to white and back again. Large black letters enscripted onto each door read which room it was, and underneath, a portfolio of each patient.

I saw a few other young people out in the room conjoining with the reception hall, and, expelling my curiosity for my stomach, made my way towards them.

"Well, you're new," one of them said. It was a girl, with long black hair that would put my mother's to shame. She was undeniably pretty, but didn't seem to care. An attitude of "The sky is blue, the grass green (with the exception of Wyoming, of course) and I'm pretty. Let's move on please."

"No, really, Ann?" another asked, scanning me up and down. I tapped my foot, and he stopped, returning to his apple. His figure was both shy and boisterous; like he was trying to prove himself, but kept coming up short. Like he didn't want to try, but he couldn't help himself.

"I am new," I informed them, "May I sit?"

"What'd you do?" A boy, clothed in a green short that read I AM GEORGE in black Sharpie, said, sounding bored.

"Nothing," I said.

"Nothing!" Ann laughed, "Well, nothing like blowing up a car, or nothing like killing-your-sister nothing?"

"You killed your sister?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"She likes to pretend she does," 'George' said, "But in reality, her sister only died because she didn't want to get in the car with Ann, because Ann had set it on fire."

"So she got hit by a car, the little -" Ann started, finishing with a colorful display of words to me. The school I went to in high school was very, very strict. To say it was jarring to hear was a slight understatement.

"Well, I really did nothing," I said, making eye contact with her. She seemed to dare me into saying something. I refused. She broke it off and leaned back in her chair.

"So what's your name?" She asked, taking a cracker from the table.

"Jay," I said.

"WE LOVE YOU JAY!" all four of the kids said, loudly.

"What?"

"WE LOVE YOU!"

"LET IT GO!" One of the nurses said loudly. I finally noticed their little booth; they were locked in, with cement walls, a bulletproof window through which they were staring at us, and a heavy door. Taking notes on their little laptop.

I had to admire the nurse's guts to talk to a patient like that, but perhaps it was the pretense of a bulletproof window that gave her confidence.

"It was an old activity," George explained, "We said 'I love you' to newcomers because we knew we'd love them eventually. That is, until one of the nurses got attacked with a shiv. I'm George, by the way. This is Martha, and Fairson. That's his last name."

"A pleasure," I said, "Does it ever get warmer here?"

"What, were you used to the effects of climate change?" Ann said cleverly, her eyes darting to mine again.

"Oh, Ann, aren't you coy," George smirked. He looked like he was about to say something more, but was interrupted by a piece of granite flying at Fairson's head.

I kicked my chair backwards from the start, landing hard on my back. I had my hands to protect my head, but it was still throbbing.

There had been a blast, and the windows had shattered. Something had exploded outside.

I heard grunts as Ann yelped. "Almost fell out of my chair," she explained, "Sorry."

"Stop acting macho, Ann," George said, "It isn't fit on a lady."

"Well, I guess Jay came in with a bang," she said. I nodded dryly. Everybody seemed to be alright.

"What was that?" Martha asked quietly.

"How nice of you to join the conversation!" Ann said, "I don't know."

"It sounded like a very loud gunshot," George said.

"Oh, you'd know, I'm sure," Ann said. Three nurses came in quickly, their neat little white shoes tapping the floor obnoxiously.

"Pardon, patients," one of them said, sounding slightly tired, "If you couldn't see, er, something just blew up. Police - " Every groaned at that word - "are on their way to investigate. We're not sure what happened. Good day."

"Police?" I asked.

"Oh, they're nothing," Ann said, "They come here every week."

"Threaten to close it down, lock us all up," George said.

"And then they leave," Martha said, "But you never know."

"If they'll stay or leave, or when they're going to leave," Ann said, nodding, "I think they're almost about to really shut us down."

"I'd love to see them try," George said, mildly.

---------------

"Jay, wake up," Ann whispered. I shook awake, looking around for her. "By the window."

"What?" I asked, looking - and there she was, perched on the windowsill.

"How'd you open it -?"

"Easy, but I can't explain now," she said, "It was quite loud, though, you're a heavy sleeper. You ready?"

She grabbed my hand, regardless of my answer, and pulled me on top of the windowsill. "Three, two, one!" she said almost silently, pulling me with her as she jumped.

It was only a story up, so it wasn't that big of a deal. I looked around, and all of the kids that I met today were there; Fairson looking in better color.

"Where are we going?" I asked, blinking twice. She didn't answer, nor did her friends. They all just kept walking, quicker and quicker, like the wind snapping at their heels was a dog.

"Why am I here?" I said, when they finally stopped. She turned to me. We were near water, I could tell by the rushing sound of water. We must've been near the bridge.

"You coming?" she asked, nodding to the bridge. Her eyes, those eyes - what choice did I have?

------------

"You're saying he planted a bomb, somehow, underneath his parent's taxi? In what time?" The judge, in his pajamas because he worked the night shift, gazed up at Kasey, a member on his force, who also happened to live with him.

"I don't know, Clark!" The police officer slammed her hand on the coffee table, "But I do know. He was institutionalized just days ago." She looked her law partner and fiancé in the eyes, looking deadly serious.

"Where is he now, then?" Clark got up, rubbing his eyes, "Nearby?"

"He ran away with all the other patients," Kasey said, "Clark, they all went down to the river, because they heard the police were coming with warrants. I know, it's the middle of your sleep, but they're unstable kids."

"Where were they?" Clark asked.

"Garrington," Kasey said. Clark opened his eyes again, wider. "Clark, they weren't safe either way."

"We should've shut that place down when we had the chance," Clark muttered, "I shouldn't have held you back."

"They're at the bridge," Kase said, "Clark, come on."

"Let me get my coat," Clark said, "Don't - just bring your taser."

They quickly got into their Priya, and drove silently towards the institution.

"Damn the snow," Kasey said, turning the brights on, "I can't see a thing."

"We're almost there," Clark whispered, the memories burning the back of his throat, making his tongue taste of salt. The bridge. His choice. He looked over at Kasey, and strength renewed within him.

They got out, and joined hands, carefully stepping in the soft snow. It crunched in some places, proving people had been there not long ago.

"Hello?" Clark called out. There was nothing but his echo. Kasey squeezed his hand, looking through the shrubs with the eyes of a true police officer.

They walked down the length of the bridge, stopping only to look down. They could see nothing, no breaks in the thin sheen of ice.

"Hello?" Clark tried again.

"Hello," a quiet voice said back, followed by a brushing sound - someone coming out of the bushes.

The someone had a gun. And Japanese genetics. They had found the kid.

"They jumped on that side," he said, his voice as soft as the snow, but just as cold, "You didn't check that side."

"Hey, kid," Clark said, his voice soothing, "We won't make you go back there."

"I didn't say you had to," Kenji said, tracing the trigger, "I didn't say you had to do anything."

"It's loaded," Kasey whispered.

"Indeed, it is," Kenji said.

Bang.

"Isn't it easy," he said, drawing breath as Clark lay in the snow. Kasey stood, frozen with fear, "How much we can get done if time's not wasted on words?"

Bang.

"I mean, truly," he said, "If everybody was as simple, as effervescent as that hospital, imagine what could be done." He, with his gloves on, dragged them in agony into the woods.

"Imagine living under terror," he said, "You've never known terror, have you? It's excellent. I was always warm, and safe. My parents cared not for happiness. Living on the run, we couldn't afford that. My parents gave me what they could.

"I always thought," he said, kicking a tree branch into the snow, "That it was because they loved each other. Now I see it was reason; the more danger they were in, the greater legacy they could build. Simple logic." He was nearing the banks.

"You don't think I knew exactly what I was doing when I came to America, do you? No. I knew. I knew I could terrify America into it's potential. Think of all that we waste - think of it! Think of what we could use it for. Feed the hungry, clothe the poor - or bribe those in control." He was at the edge of the river, the ice shattered on top, nothing to see in the dim moon's light.

"I want to be in control," he said quietly, "Because I know." And without another word, he threw them in.