In His World.

The Compound

I had always been in the Compound. As far back as I could remember; this was my world. It was all I knew, perhaps all I ever would know.

My world went as far as the red brick buildings that stretched around the grassy Courtyard. It was a small world, but a peaceful world; the perfect place to hide a life-changing secret. A secret I was yet to discover.
I had been told all my life that I was something special - something different to everyone around me. I wasn't sure why or how.
I didn't find out for a long time, either. Not until I was eighteen years old. My birthday, when the world exploded.

~~~

"Happy Birthday," whispers Moira, placing my breakfast tray on the table in my room.

"Thank you," I reply. I'm not sure how she knows it's my birthday; I thought I was the only one keeping track of how long I've been in the Compound.

My room is larger than the one Moira or the other Carers sleep in. There is a bookshelf in one corner that only Moira is allowed to touch. Long windows light the entire room, facing out to the pale sky over the Courtyard; a large grassy area with a single tree in the centre. I think it's symbolic of something, but I don't know what. I sometimes sit out there to read.

I don't feel like reading today. Today, something is wrong. I feel it in the air.

When I'm finished breakfast, Teacher arrives. He is old, wise, and good; though not as friendly and open as Moira. I don't know his real name.

I respect Teacher, but Moira, I like. Though much older than me, she is my dearest friend. I imagine that if I knew my mother, she would be like Moira.

"Are you ready for your lesson?" asks Teacher, as always.

"Yes," I reply, as always.

We re-enact our daily routine, walking a well-learned path out of my room and down the bright, warm corridors. Each doorway: I know. Each crack in the bricks: I recognise. Some of the rooms we pass are bedrooms, places where Moira, the Carers, and the younger Helpers live.

The Helpers are like Teacher, they know things like languages, music and numbers. Teacher knows things like Life, Death, and the Past.

I think Moira is wise like Teacher, but she is, in her heart, bad. She keeps secrets, and she tells me things that Teacher isn't supposed to know. But still, I am grateful for these snippets of wisdom.

I don't know why Moira is a Carer; cooking and cleaning for me, when she could be a Helper; learning new things every day to share with me.

"Teacher, why are some people Carers while some are Helpers?" I ask quietly as we take a seat in the shade of the tree in the heart of the Compound. The sky is a soft gray, as it always is - even when I sleep. There is a slight breeze.

"Each of us has a different calling in life," says Teacher, stroking his white beard. It is the same colour as his clothes; the same colour as my clothes.

I've always liked colours. The Helper who taught me about colours was young like me, but he was only my Helper for a little while. I was fifteen when our lessons stopped; he was two years older. I haven't seen him since.

His name was - is - Ezekiel, but I'm not supposed to know that. I still haven't told Teacher, because then he'll say Ezekiel is bad, the same way he told me that Moira is bad for telling me her name.

"You are drifting, again," says Teacher gently. He has the softest voice; not a thick voice like Moira or a husky voice like Ezekiel. "Remember to remain in the present. Gather your thoughts and focus them on the Now. Feel the breeze, the sun on your skin."