(Elai)

  I look at the clock. Layra has called me and her friend Nora to the yard half an hour after lights-out to prove her irrational point. I’m lying on my bed, thinking about what happened today. Layra thought I was a cannibal. I feel terrible. Maybe I really am like those monsters.

  I’ve seen plenty of monsters in my life. Maybe from seeing so many, I’ve become like them.

  It’s 10:30. I get up and quietly leave the room. I walk through the dark hallway into the yard. Layra is standing with her arms crossed next to Nora. When I reach her, she whispers, “I wish you’d come later,” then shoots me a glare. I say, “Sorry.” We stand behind the wall of the public restroom hallway in the yard. Suddenly, I see the principal heading toward the basement. Then I hear a familiar voice—young and wounded—pleading. The principal enters the basement. After a few minutes, Layra signals for us to follow. The pleading grows closer. We enter the basement hallway. Layra tries to seem tough, but unease radiates from her eyes. She’s always tough. She acts strong and fights for her goals. Nora has her hand over her mouth, staring at the hatch. I follow her gaze. The pleas are from one of my classmates. My chest tightens. They’re dragging him toward a large metal-glass machine. He begs, “Please… I’m begging you. I have to go back… My… My mom… Dad won’t let her live… I have to go or she’ll die of cancer. Please… I beg you…” A savage, tall, burly man kicks him in the stomach. He collapses to the floor. The man says, “You wretched filth. You deserve to die in your own filth.” My heart pounds. My hands shake. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. That memory comes rushing back. But the screams shatter the thread of these nightmares. They drag him, kicking and screaming, toward the machine. They throw him inside while he screams. Then the sound of his soft crying shakes the three of us. And suddenly, his body slowly, slowly disintegrates. Then, from the other side of the machine, packaged food comes out. Nora can’t hold herself together. She runs out and throws up. But I’m staring at the food. I want to scream and cry, but I’ve learned to keep grief inside. A phrase comes to mind: Pain is my share, not my voice. But I can’t. Layra, tears streaming one by one down her cheeks, is staring at me. But I’m stunned, bewildered. I’ve been eating people since I was fourteen. I’ve eaten my friends. But I’m still alive. Why? Why? Why? I hate what I am. I’m disgusted with myself, the killer. Suddenly, Layra pulls me and says in a strained voice, “Come on, they might see us.” Gently, she pulls me toward the public restroom hallway. I slump against the corner of the wall. Layra sits facing me. I say, “I… I’ve eaten people.” Layra’s gaze suddenly softens. She’s always acted as if I disgusted her. But now it’s as if she understands what I’m going through. She says, “I’ve eaten too. So has she.” Then she nods toward Nora, who’s slumped in a corner crying, and adds, “It’s not our fault.”

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