The Others

‘So...did it work? When will she wake up?’ Olivia jumped up as soon as Marie walked in.

‘No. Faith...’ It was hard to explain death to an eight year old with so much enthusiasm. ‘...she’s with Daisy now.’

Olivia lost her gleam. Her eyes grew shinier. Marie knew she didn’t care about Faith anymore. It was just too hard for Olivia to accept Daisy’s death.

‘You could have left them in the first place.’ Lucy Willow chipped in. ‘The people with the disease. Like me. When I had it, no-one would mess with me. Stella Barrie nearly did, and I could have killed her, I could, if I had more time. She was in hospital. She deserved it. But now...now I lost my power. You ruined everything. It’s not like I had any major problems. But you had to do that, didn’t you.’ Lucy pushed her face into her pillow. ‘I just want to get out of here.’

Marie took this as a time to leave. Mr. Young was clever, but hated children. Well, he never said anything, but he didn’t want much to do with the five survivors. Marie never got this, they were just children. Everyone was a child once. Marie Benet was the one who looked after the children. Mr. Young did all the work. He was a scientist, she was just a doctor. And although she could look after the children, the three teenagers were harder. Lucy the hardest.

There used to be four girls, staying in the hospital. Two had died. A nine year old called Daisy and a fifteen year old called Jade. The four split into two twos: Daisy and Olivia, Lucy and Jade. No wonder the surviving girls are lonely.

They had only lost one boy. Philip. The three boys still alive weren’t too upset.

In fact, George, the youngest smiled and giggled when Marie entered the boys’ dormitory. It was a wonder how they kept entertained. Mr. Young didn’t bother with any fun for the children. He said it wasn’t a priority. Neither was education, in his view. Dr. Marie objected strongly, but silently.

‘Before you ask, no-one will be joining us.’ Marie said.

‘Ok.’

‘Ok.’

‘Why would someone come here then they don’t?’ George Oak was five years old. He wouldn’t understand.

The other boys were teenagers. They wanted to get out of here too.

Everyone did.

 

 

 

 ‘What is the point of us staying here?’ Kai slurped the last of the pasta.

 ‘I don't know. They don’t tell us. I hate it here.’ Lucy stabbed her meatball with a fork on the word ‘hate’. The two boys muttered agreement. 

 

The End

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