'Good morning. Good morning.' I test it on my tongue.

But it's not the same.

I can't make it sound the way he does.

My mother always tells me practice makes perfect. So I keep trying.

His face is close. No space between us and yet I can't feel his breath.

Not at all.

ಌ

Today, there's a new man. Old and yellow.

I ask him why the old man is yellow.

He tells me the man died from liver failure. It's the reason why his skin is yellow.

Where did he come from? I want to know.

From outside, is his respond.

My eyes turn to the steel door with its little plastic window.

And I wonder. I wonder why I never thought of leaving through the door.

Do I want to?

Leave, that is.

I take a numb step towards it and turn back to look.

He is busy conversing with the small yellow man.

So I take another step.

And another.

But I'm not getting any closer.

To the door, that is.

ಌ

I find myself asking.

Do I want to?

Leave, that is.

My arm is outstretched. My finger extends.

My mother always tells me never to give up. So I don't.

I want to know what's on the other side.

The outside.

He grabs me from behind and throws me over his bare shoulder.

To take me back and away.

I know... His scars... I'm to be one of them. 

Just one of them.

ಌ