Fifteen.

Fifteen, how old I am right now, and the age that I hate so much. Fifteen is like a dead zone to me, where you’re not a teen, and yet you’re not a child, though people treat you like one. Even though other people say you’re a teen at thirteen, they don’t treat you that way. When you’re fourteen or fifteen, you don’t get treated the same, the way you should be. That’s the way I felt as I walked into the manager of the Drop-Off House’s office.

Walked. Ha ha, scratch that. Never in my life have I walked. I’ve only ever rolled or been carried; I have been paralyzed from the waist down at birth. But that’s not the only reason I was a Broken: I was also born without a left arm, my right eye was almost blind, and I had asthma to boot. People say I’m the most broken of all the Brokens, but it doesn’t matter me. Since we Brokens aren’t ranked as Damageds and Perfects are, we no longer care if someone’s a Broken because they’re paralyzed from the shoulders down or missing a pinky; when you’re a Broken, you’re a Broken, and that’s that. It’s not like we were treated any different at the Drop-Off House

As I entered the room, Ms. Gontoach, the manager of the Drop-Off House, shuffled her papers and smiled at me. Ms. Gontoach, being all holier-than-though as she always acted, sat up straight in her office chair, the smile on her face the usual; one that would be used more on a sadist sighting its prey than heartwarming and welcoming. Ms. Gontoach was one of those people who tried to fit the part they played in life to the T, thus why she used a tight smile with her tiny mouth and perched glasses on a string on her pudgy nose. The think was, Ms. Gontoach didn’t work here because she was a born leader or enjoyed looking after harmed people, no, she did it because, being a Perfect-, she could pick whatever job she wanted, and picked this one, the easiest.

“Ah, Rosaline, you’re here. Madeline, could you please move that chair for our guest, please?” Maddie, murmuring annoyed at the fact of having to do something for a Broken, moved the chair so I was able to roll up to Ms. Gontoach’s desk. Madeline, or more preferable to her, Maddie, was a Damaged Three-Minus, thus making her barely eligible to work in the Drop-Off House. And when you’re a Damaged, you got assigned your jobs, no matter what you want to do. Sadly, for her and for us, Maddie loathed Brokens, so whenever she had to do a job for Ms. Gontoach, she would “mess up” in one way or another and make life harder for us Brokens.

Pressing the forward button on the wheelchair’s control panel, I moved into the space previously occupied by the chair. Maddie slouched down in her chair, clearly disgusted by my presence, but I didn’t care; it was always like this.

“So, Rosaline, you must be wondering why I called you here,” Ms. Gontoach began.

“It’s just Rose, or Ross, if you prefer. And I know why I’m here… it’s kind of hard to not notice that Erin hasn’t been around for the last few days.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Maddie flipping my off with a malicious grin on her face at the thought of me and Ms. Gontoach not knowing what she was doing. This was her idea of fun: making fun of Brokens without them knowing. She and Erin would do that a lot, them both being Three-Minuses and hating Brokens. Erin had been my Helper, and, as the name implies, all she did was help me with stuff like picking up dropped items and putting my shoes on.  When I was younger, I hasn’t able to get dressed by myself, so my old Helper, Lisa, would help me with that. But, feeling useless to society, she later committed suicide, and act common upon Brokens and Helpers. And as horrid as it seems, no one blamed them; it was terrible living in a house full of useless weirdoes and watching old reruns, some dating as far back as the 2000’s.

“Oh, so you have already heard.” Heard. I didn’t need to hear about this to figure out what happen. “But you must be wondering why-“

“Suicide,” I stated with an emotionless face. “As far as I know, nineteen-year-old women don’t get heart attacks, and I don’t think Erin was stupid enough to indulge on saffron on accident.”

“Oh, well aren’t you smart.” Trying to keep up her “kind manager” façade, she tried saying it as a compliment, but instead allowed some venom to slip into her words. Ms. Gontoach was a complete info manager, and she only would want people to know when she told them, not by them figuring it out by themselves. “Well, any who, Erin left you a little something.”  She pulled her hand out from underneath the desk, a crisp, white envelope grasped by it, and I desperately wished that inside the white paper with only one thing written on it, Rose, was money, and not what I thought it was. My day thoroughly ruined, I snatched the letter out from Ms. Gontoach’s hand and set it in my lap before maneuvering my wheelchair to head out the door, grumbling as I went.

“Have a nice day,” Ms. Gontoach said, dismissively.

“You, too,” I answered sourly, then quickly added, “Oh, and Maddie? You like to watch birds fly, right?” I continued out, smirking, while Maddie sputtered at being found out, saying some gibberish about how I must be insane, and this is why we don’t need Brokens, they’re crazy! I continued down the hallway, passing the corridors that lead to the library, tech room, boarding rooms, and the gym (the gym was mostly used by Brokens who were deaf or missing an arm or hand; though the pool was used by almost everyone). Finally, I made it down to the cafeteria-slash-commons area.

“Ah, Rosey, there you are! Where’ve ya been, it’s already past lunch time!” John greeted when I entered. John, though he was in his forties, was my closest friend here. He pushed a tray with a small bowl of noodles and broth, on it towards me. “But don’t worry, I got some for you.”

“What is it?” I questioned. “Ramen?”

John laughed. “Ah, that’ll be the day when they serve us fancy out of country stuffs. No, just chicken noodle soup made with spaghetti noodles. So, what did Ms. Lazybones want?”  I pulled the tray closer to me and looked around for a utensil, to which John passed me a spoon and a fork.

“Well, Ms. G told me the shocking new news that, le gasp! Erin’s dead!” I stuck the spoon into my bowl and slurp up some broth. “And she still has the gall to make phony letters to try and make us feel all nice about ourselves.” I pulled the envelope up from off of my lap and slapped it down on the table. Whenever a helper or a resident committed suicide, Ms. Gontoach would always make phony letters saying that it was them, not us, and send them to the people that most cared about them; after “breaking the news” to us, of course.

“You gonna read it?”

“No,” I immediately answered and I glared at the paper parcel, but after a few moments I gave in. “…Yes.” Putting my hand on the envelope, I began feeling around for the quick open tag that was usually put on the envelopes I received. Since I only had one hand, opening mail was near to impossible, so people tended to not close it all the way so I could easily slide my thumb under it and open it. But it seemed that this time Ms. Gontoach forgot about it, thus giving me the challenge of the day. I continued to scrabble my hand around the sealed flap of the envelope, until finally my rage and emotions got the better of me and I started stabbing the envelope viciously with my fork.

“Rosey, Rosey, take it easy! It’s just a stupid fake letter!” John grabbed my arm and held it above my head, prying the eating utensil out of my hand. “What’s wrong?”

I wiped the tears off my face. “I’m sick of it,” I murmured piteously. “It’s only happened twice, and I’m already sick of it! People shouldn’t have to get pushed this far… they shouldn’t have to be pushed so far just for someone who’s getting nowhere in the world!” I slammed my fist down on the table. “It’s not fair…” I buried my face in my hand and sobbed miserably in my hand. I was glad that John and I were the only ones here, apart from Violet, or Vivo, as I call her, who was deaf and didn’t even know I was there since she had been spacing out at the window the whole time.

A calloused hand set itself on my head and began petting my hair comfortingly. “It’s not your fault, Rosey. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the government’s; they’re the idiots who decided that we get to go nowhere in the world. Now, do you want to look at the letter?” I nodded my head slowly, not trusting my voice to even work. John hesitated, waiting to hear me say that I could do it myself before picking it up and opening it. Upon the ending of the ripping noises, I picked my head up off of my hand wiping the remaining tears away. John handed the letter to me, and I looked at it.

After only two seconds of scanning the page over, I stuck one end of the paper in my mouth and pulled with my hand ripping into pieces. Scattering the paper on the floor, I left the room, fuming, and ignoring John’s protests for me to stay. Ms. Gontoach really had some nerve, and she sickened me even further.

The letter had been blank.