Luca Vitiello POV:
The giant room smelled like pee and old sweat.
It used to be a warehouse, but now it was full of metal beds and angry men. The walls were grey and the air was always cold. I hugged my bear tight against my chest. My bear didn't have a color anymore, just brown dirt, but he was my only friend.
I crouched in the darkest corner of the room, my knees pulled up to my chin. The clothes the police gave me were too big. The sleeves covered my hands. I watched the men walking around. They had angry eyes and mean faces. I was scared.
A loud bell rang. A woman in a yellow vest pushed a big metal cart into the room. It smelled like warm oatmeal.
All the men started yelling. They ran at the cart like hungry dogs.
I stood up, but my legs were slow. I tried to walk to the cart, but a big man with a dirty beard pushed me hard. I fell on the hard floor. My elbows hurt.
By the time I crawled to the front, the big pot was empty. The woman scraped the bottom and put a tiny spoonful of cold, grey mush into my plastic bowl.
I held the bowl with both hands and walked back to my dark corner. I picked up my plastic spoon.
Suddenly, a tall man stood in front of me. He had a long, scary red scar across his cheek.
He lifted his heavy boot and kicked my bowl. The plastic cracked. The oatmeal flew onto the dirty floor.
I screamed. I dropped the spoon and covered my head with my hands, my whole body shaking.
The scarred man laughed. He reached down and snatched my bear from my arms. "Look at the retard playing with toys."
My chest felt hot. That was my bear. I jumped up and threw my hands forward, trying to grab the soft fur.
The man pulled his arm back and punched me right in the middle of my face.
A loud crunch echoed in my head. Pain exploded in my nose. Bright red blood sprayed out, splashing all over my oversized shirt.
I fell backward, hitting the floor. I grabbed my nose, crying out loud. The tears mixed with the hot blood running into my mouth. It tasted like metal.
The man sneered. He held my bear over a big, smelly plastic bucket where people threw their garbage and old food. He dropped my bear into the slop.
The other men in the room pointed at me and laughed. Nobody stopped him. Nobody helped me.
I didn't care about my bleeding nose. I crawled on my hands and knees across the floor. I reached my hands into the disgusting, sour-smelling garbage bucket and pulled my bear out. He was covered in slimy food.
I pulled the wet, smelly bear against my chest, hugging him as hard as I could.
My brain felt fuzzy. I rocked back and forth on the floor. I opened my bloody mouth and started saying the only word that made me feel safe. The word from a long time ago, when a pretty lady used to cook me warm food.
"Elena... Elena..." I mumbled, blood dripping from my chin onto the bear.
A young man wearing glasses and a yellow vest walked over. He yelled at the scarred man to go away.
The young man knelt down and held out a white paper tissue.
I didn't take it. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed myself backward against the cold wall, shrinking away like a kicked dog.
The young man looked at me. His eyes looked sad. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black phone. He pointed it at me.
A bright white light flashed in my eyes.
I didn't know what he was doing. I just kept licking the blood off my lip and crying. I didn't know the young man was typing words on his phone. I didn't know he was writing about a forgotten soul in the Chicago winter.
I just closed my eyes and went to sleep in the dark.
The data stream pushed the photo into the network, and the cold gears of fate began to turn.
