A young woman packed her entire life into a box. She was young, but the box wasn't nearly big enough to contain the life of a 19 year old girl. She wasn't ready to leave, with so much to do and very little time. This was the first home she had known in years, and it had only lasted for a few months.  With a heavy heart and mind, she slumped down onto her old bed and started to cry. The hole in her stockings tore on the corner post of the bed, frustrating her even further.

"God dammit! WHY?!"

"Hey, ah, are you all right, Amy?"  Amy knew who it was before she caught the sight of the bespectacled man at her doorway. She glanced up at the figure, then busied herself with her box. Her light brown hair was covering her eyes and shielding her tears from Charles Ofdenson.

"Yeah I am. It's just hot in here, I think I turned the thermostat on too high"

"We don't have a thermostat. The boys thought they weren't brutal enough. We, ah, just have a lot of fire places."

Charles sat down next to her, and put his arm around her. Amy started to sob again, her 5'3" frame was wracked with cries of pain. She felt weak in his arms, but continued to weep. She appeared just like a small child to Charles, her big multicolored eyes, not blood shot with tears streaming freely. Little puddles of saliva and tears forming onto his jacket. Charles decided to page a Gear for a new suit piece after he was done here. Amy suddenly looked up, face overflowing with her sadness and shame when she finally sobbed,

"Please. . . tell me it gets easier."

A very young girl was slumped over her seat at the train station, her blue eye covered with a bruise, her eyes trailing tears. She was a scrawny thing, her hip bones visible through her dress. Sitting next to her was a plump woman, with the loveliest blonde curls, the girl's case worker, no doubt.  In a different time, she would have been considered a beautiful woman, but the year was nearing the early 2000's and society was obsessed with the thin and fragile. By those standards, this little girl was the most beautiful thing on the planet, but then again, so were all the emaciated in Africa.

The girl was afflicted with Heterochromia Iridium, a genetic mutation that caused one of her eyes to be a light blue and the other to be a hazel colour. This had caused her to be bullied with the last foster home she had been sent to.

"Amelia, I promise you it does get easier. There is nothing wrong with you, we will find you a good family." The social worker tried to smile, but placing the girl had been very hard in the first place. This was the absolute last chance she had before the girl was sent to a group home. The social worker smiled and hugged the girl, "Look here, Sweetheart, don't you worry about your eyes. They are beautiful, just like you, and one day people will be so jealous because your eyes are so unique."

Amelia smiled weakly and stared back down at the ground. "I don't believe you, the last people tried to have me exorcised." Amelia stood up to stretch, and glanced around. "Miss Veronica? What do my new foster parents look like?"

"They look just fine, they are also aware of your condition. So I don't think they'll try and excorcise you" Miss Veronica chuckled lightly at her own joke. Her high voice gulping and hiccuping in laughter. It sounded more like a plea for oxygen rather than a full hearted laugh.


"Amy?" The older version of that little girl had stopped sobbing and had been still for a long time, sliding back and forth between consciousness.  Charles had rubbed her back to comfort her but she was no longer responding. "Are you alright?" The girl nodded her head and wiped her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just stressed."

"Are you sure? You seem to have slobbered all over my suit."

"You know what Charles? You're a real asshole." Amy looked at him in disgust, and reached for her things. He grabbed her hand quickly, and almost awkwardly. She glanced up into both of his brown eyes, a fire ignited into them. It almost scared her, but his face seemed nervous. Sweat droplets formed at the top of his forehead, his eyes wide and terrified, and a reddening formed on his cheeks. It was an unfamiliar look. That was the terrifying part.

"Amy. I'm, ah, very sorry to have hurt you. I didn't come here to, ah, upset you." His eyes calmed, and Amy tore herself from his . . . . sweet brown eyes. They were almost certainly the eyes of someone who used to be a fussy child. A child who cried to get attention, and got it. Amy ripped away from his grasp, and picked up her box with as much attitude she could muster. She huffily walked to the door, trying to look severely offended.

"I just came to inform you of an opening, as, ah, my assistant. If you can deal with the fact that, ah, I'm an asshole." His eyes were sad, yet he stood straight and proud, "It came to my senses that you, ah, are young but are an, exceptional organizer. I, ah, need that in my life. I also associate you with my boys, and I can't let any of my boys go, ah, hungry or homeless."

"You know that isn't true. You haven't even known me for half a year. You're too much of a robot to care about anything but the boys. Not that it's a bad thing, I just don't believe you like me let alone want me to stay." Amy spat at him, coldly slamming the door behind her. She stood in front of him, with her box of all her belongings. "That being said, you obviously need a slave to unload all of your unnecessary crap, so I might as well do something with my life."

A thin, almost unnoticed smile appeared across Charles' face. "That's good, ah, news. I'll get you an application. Standard procedure."