It was just a normal day in he institution—as normal as my new life as a Disordered could be—and we were writing and researching about all the Disordered of the past. They were all about very horrible men and women who were inflicted by the darkness, which, now in my present life, I realize was a sort of propaganda that Katrina was talking about.

The murder that stained my hands wasn’t my fault, but it _was_ because of what defined me. Now how does that make sense? It doesn’t; the First Humans try to prove that we are less than mortal in false ways, but the Blanks believe it. I, at the time, was fooled just as them.

Our class was a mix of seven-year olds and above, sadly, Katrina wasn’t with us—Karl was, though. He was helping me, a sad frown on his face as he read the passages we were assigned. I was busy typing on the monitors at our desks, trying to get the assignment completed as soon as possible. The first week I was here, I saw a kid get sent to the Dean’s office for missing an assignment—everyone went quiet when Instructor Willis told her to go.

I was there for a month by then and I hadn’t seen her anywhere.

I startled when Karl tapped me on my wrist lightly. “Oh—yes?”

Karl scooted closer to me in his chair, his rear hanging onto the side. I was used to it by now, so I wasn’t surprised when he went closer to my face. “I can type the rest of your hands are tired,” he smiled, continuing in his normal whisper, “I could be done by tonight.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine, Karl.” The thought of either of us getting sent to the Dean made my stomach churn. “I can do it by myself.”

Karl stared at me for a moment before he went back to his desk. I should’ve went back to my work then, but my eyes followed him and stayed.

My heart was pounding, the blood in my veins suddenly rushing faster. My lungs felt blown up, like a ballon, and at that moment I couldn’t breathe; the world around me stilled.

When Karl flicked his bangs away from his eyes, oblivious to growing heated pain in my chest, I let out a gasp. He turned to me then, but I had already went back to typing—but my body didn’t understand the assignment.

Karl, being a Social Disordered who could smell feelings, tilted his head at me. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine,” I responded quickly.

No. I was not fine.

Ah, I remember that life, the sweet, sweet life. We couldn’t it stay?