The body had been taken away early in the morning.

Number 112 had found out how to forget; something we had always longed for. But then he had always known, waiting for the right time. The necktie, on the end of the bed in the corner, had answered his desperate pleads to disappear and everyone was excited.

Everyone but the figure in the darkness of the night.

The guard was gone the whole day, and the children remained quiet. We were thinking of the world outside. Where our dearest brother had found his way to. We smiled and we laughed and we clapped our hands and we remained still.

And we whispered his name. His real name. To remember him, and to let him live a moment longer; to let him join in our laughter.

----------

‘What is your name?’ Jackson asked. We had been given a day of rest from daily routine and i found myself laying down next to Jackson on the ground, staring up at an empty sky.

The excitement had died down as soon as the guards had come back, reminding us that we were still here.

Jackson had surprisingly not been interested in the happenings of last night. The boy went giddy by little things, and yet here he was, his eyes blankly staring into a dull blue canvas; lifeless.

‘Mark.’