Song: “Don’t You Dare Forget the Sun” by Get Scared

They say he’s the most dangerous of them all, the one responsible for the eternal darkness, but to me, he doesn’t look like much. Most days, he just lies on his back all day, staring up at the ceiling as if it contains the secrets of the universe—but, of course, it doesn’t. His walls, his ceiling, his floor—they’re all blank, stark-white rubber.

They say it’s best not to give him any sort of inspiration: Don’t let that brain of his get to thinking—god forbid.

Whatever you do, don’t let him have anything to draw with, my supervisor tells me every time I bring this boy his dinner. Every. Damn. Time. I’m not an intern anymore, Deborah.

I’ve never understood why they fear him so much. To me, he’s just the little punk who flings his food around and makes me clean gravy off the ceiling. He’s a nuisance, not a menace.

We’re not to leave him alone while he eats, but I need a smoke. Eternal Darkness Boy’s neighbor vomited everywhere this afternoon, so I missed my break. My hands are tingling now, and my head is killing me. Eternal Darkness Boy can do without my company for one meal; I can’t do without this cigarette.

I punch in the eight-digit door code and slide the tray toward him. He doesn’t get up right away—he never does—and I close the door again, carefully, making sure it latches. All I need is this punk wreaking havoc in the halls. That’d be strike three for me, and I need this job too much to let that happen.

Three puffs of the cigarette tide me over well enough, and I crush it under my white tennis shoe before going back inside. The hall is still quiet, so Deborah probably has no idea I stepped out. Realistically, the boy probably hasn’t even touched the tray yet.

When I reach his cell, I enter the code again, but I can’t open the door right away. The green light on the keypad means it’s unlocked, but I put in the code one more time, just to be sure. The keypad beeps twice at me, indicating the door’s already unlocked, so I try to open it again.

I lean into it this time, and it opens. Wind immediately strikes my face, whipping my blond curls against my forehead and cheeks.

There, right in front of me, is a gaping hole in the wall that used to be the far side of this room. Eternal Darkness Boy is gone, and the drawing—in raspberry vinaigrette?—on the floor offers the only explanation.

Strike three.

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