It was cold, then wet, warm, then cold again.

There were a slew of voices echoing around me, but it was hard to tell whether they were far away or really close. Where were Benny and Papa? Were they here with me too? I needed to find both of them before they got sold. Or maybe I was in heaven, since I had selfishly left the earth already.

Something made my eyes burn. There was a strong scent of lemon and cigarettes, and I felt hot tears running down my face. I tried to wipe at them before seeing a mass of colors forming around me. My arms and legs hurt.

I sniffed again.

Heaven did not smell like lemon and cigarettes.

My eyelids were so heavy at first it was impossible to move them. After blinking several times, the colors slowly began to form into distinguished objects. I quickly sat up with a small gasp and rubbed my eyes with both arms at the sight in front of me.

The room was huge, much bigger than my humble mud hut back at home. The floor was not made out of dirt nor grass. Cream colored walls surrounded me, peeling at the edges. Some small wooden items sat on the floor, and there was another area with all sorts of strange things I had never seen before. To my right, there was a tiny room with more unique, white shaped objects. A great deal of empty cigarette packs and broken matches were gathered in a small pile next to a cracked ashtray.

Where was I?

As I gently pulled the sheets off me, I realized I was lying on top of a cushioned mat. Benny and I had sleeping pallets like this, but never this soft. My arms and legs were covered in some sort of white fabric tightly wrapped around my skin. I had no idea where my dress was, because I had on civilian clothing instead, in a bright yellow crewneck sweater with a printed image on it and shorts that hung near my thighs. They were very big, smelling strongly like cigarettes. I had to roll the waistline around four times to make sure they wouldn’t slip off my hips.

The whole world seemed to tilt as I struggled to sit up. It was dark in here, and the only source of light was from the noonday sun, that leaked in from a cracked window pane above me. I leaned against the wall for support and looked to the side, before feeling my heart skip a beat once I spotted a shadowy figure next to me. Immediately I scooted away, clutching the blanket, breathing heavily.

The Sandwich King laid on the floor, right next to the soft mat I was on. He had a large quilt wrapped around himself with one pale bare foot rested on the edge of the mat. His fiery red hair stuck out in all directions, peeking out from the hood of his sweatshirt, but I could barely make out his face that was hidden in the shadows. Deep dark circles sat underneath his eyes, which were closed, but from time to time, his eyelids fluttered. His soft breaths were the only sound in the quiet room; and his dirty fingers curled around the hemline of the quilt.

Goodness, he really was a king. Not only did he own all the sandwiches in the world, but this was where he kept them. That was the reason he could enjoy them every night when he went to chop trees for living, so he could pay for more. I didn’t know how I had gotten here, yet this place was fascinating.

If only I could tell Benny what the homes of the civilans looked like inside. He would love it.

I got to my feet, which still were quite shaky, before stepping off the blanket and walking across the floor as quietly as I could. From time to time I stared at his sleeping form, but he appeared to be knocked out. As I slowly began to make my way towards what I believed was the front door, something caught my attention and distracted me. The ground was covered in some strange coarse cloth, and I gently reached down on my knees to feel its rugged texture.

Was there dirt underneath it? Why would one do this to their dwelling?

A closed off area in this room had a large, rusted white rectangle with a door and knobs on each side, a small table and a chair, and a tiny black box with a long handle.

I knelt down and pulled at it. A cool gust of wind blew in my face, and a bright yellow light flashed on. A startled yelp escaped from my mouth as I let go, causing it to close loudly. After studying it for a while, I reached out and opened it again. The strange black box made a tiny humming sound as I studied the contents inside, with more items I had never seen before. The frigid air was amazing against my skin, and I closed the door shut before opening it again to peer back inside, causing a few containers to rattle loudly.

How had civilians figured this out? For one to keep a whole box of the wind at home to stay cool, so that they never had to go out and swim in the spring to escape the heat. It was incredible. I wanted one of these, but I didn’t think that Papa would allow it. Maybe I could get one for Benny.

There was another small rectangular compartment on top, and I couldn’t help but open it. A tray full of ice cubes was located on the side, but the whole space was empty. With both hands, I picked it up, the sudden cold burning my fingertips. It was quite fascinating how when I held it upside down, everything remained in place.

I leaned my face forward, inhaling the deliciously cold air, before I heard the creaking sound of the floor not too far away. The moment a shadow washed over me I looked up, letting the door slam shut and causing it to make a banging noise. Quickly, I turned my head to the side, the ice cubes sticking to my palms.

My heart stopped as I looked up.

The Sandwich King stood right in the middle of the entrance of the little closed area. I realized how much he towered over me; he had to be at least over seven feet. It seemed like the apartment was far too small for him. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his head. But I still couldn’t see his face well, only his eyes. They were round and warm full of longing, as I realized that he had been watching me the whole time. I immediately scrambled to stand up.

The plastic tray slipped out of my hands and crashed to the floor, the transparent cubes sliding around my feet. He barely even reacted to the sound of shattered ice, let alone looked at it. Instead, he took another step closer. A noise escaped from my mouth as I studied the floor, then him. Now I had broken his property, and was about to experience his rage, ready for the string of cuss words to come out. My breaths became more raggedy as I tried to apologize and bend down to clean up the mess, but my body was frozen. I realized at that moment he could do whatever he wanted to in this dark place and that I was powerless. He could beat me, sell me, do worse. Now that he had me here, he had full control.

I tried to sign to tell him how I was dreadfully sorry for stealing, and that I could try to make up for the food loss and get him water so that he wouldn’t turn me in, but I could barely move my hands. He continued to deeply gaze at me; something that giant of a man would do in order to examine their prey. It was suddenly hard to breathe as he slowly began picking his way through the ice scattered cubes, his bare feet barely making a sound on the floor.

I snatched a uniquely shaped piece of pottery off the table, still glancing around the room, then back at him. He was coming for me. The door. Where was the door? Why did civilian homes have to be so complicated? By now I was struggling to breathe, and I had thrown the mug at him. He easily dodged the item, and it smashed against the wall, a dark liquid oozing down its surface. I rushed behind a chair, crouching, shaking, my fingers digging into its wooden surface as I frantically looked around the apartment.

“Nothing is going to happen to you here, I promise.”

I flinched.

The Sandwich King’s large brown eyes were strangely wet. “You’re okay.”

Was he drunk? Maybe he was high. He looked like he smoked a lot. That was the only explanation for why he wasn’t knocking the teeth out of my mouth for what I had just done in my panicked state. But perhaps his intoxicated state would benefit me after all; he could be unstable on his feet. Whenever Papa beat me, he often struggled to stand up properly after and I would be able to blindly crawl away, being barely able to see due to so much blood pouring down my face. I waited for the Sandwich King’s first swing, his curse words, the sensation of his fist breaking my jaw. Him pinning me to the ground with his gigantic hands firmly locked my neck. His fingernails resembled bear claws that would rip off my skin. What was taking him so long to beat me up and do what he planned? For him to take what he wanted from me. Waiting for it was unbearable, because I at least needed to know when to expect his first move. I pried my fingers from the chair and remained frozen.

”Easy,” he simply whispered. “That’s it.”

The words seared through my thoughts. My arms started to work again. The front door had disappeared, I could’ve sworn. I couldn’t find it because the lights turned off again. Before I knew it I had grabbed a nearby straw broom placed against the wall, and pointed the handle out towards him, breathing heavily as my chest rose up and down. My fingers tightened around its wooden surface as I frantically scrambled away from his growing shadow, the floor all slippery under my feet. Very slowly, he began to hold a hand out towards me.

”It’s…it’s alright. You’re safe here.”

The way he pronounced his words were very odd, and I knew that the language he spoke towards was me was broken.

I quickly looked to the side, searching for a window. He didn’t try to take the broom away from me. The power turned on, and then went off again. A faint crackling noise echoed in my ears, although I didn’t know where it was coming from.

At that moment, the Sandwich King took another step forward. Panicked, I immediately whacked him in the stomach with the broom handle with all my might, hearing him grunt and double over in pain. I delivered a few blows as he tried to avoid them. In the midst of my scramble, it tumbled out of my hands and landed to the ground with a loud clatter. I sprinted as fast as I could into the tiny room nearby and slammed the door with a heavy bang, pressing both of my hands against the cracked surface.

”W-wait…wait! Wait a minute!”

There were light footsteps outside, and I stared at the entrance in horror. Sweat poured down my forehead as I gasped for air, my eyes searching the room for anything I could get my hands on. Frantically, I grabbed a nearby stool and stuck it underneath the rusted doorknob to barricade it before the glare of sunlight caught my attention. A window. I tried to pry it open with what little strength I had left within me, gritting my teeth. It didn’t budge.

“No, no, no! I’m not going to hurt you!”

His voice was growing dangerously loud, desperate. My bandaged hands hurt when I banged against the cold glass in frustration, and I knew I was going to be beaten into a pulp the moment I was returned back to the camp. My breaths were out of control as I tried to break it with my fist. I began to violently kick with my feet, causing it to rattle loudly. When that didn’t work, I continued striking it, whimpering.

”Please, just…just wait! I can help you leave in a much safer way. I’m very familiar with this area and know the best times to avoid being seen.”

I lowered my fists and turned towards the doorway, my knuckles sore and bruised.

His voice cracked. “Please. Don’t be scared.”

The floor creaked around the threshold.

”I just….want to talk to you.”

Immediately I backed away from the door as far as I could and remained in the corner behind the empty toilet, waiting for him to bust his way through and drag me out into the streets. I desperately tried to think. Maybe getting through the city wouldn’t be so bad. The woods weren’t too far away from here, so hopefully, due to the fact that I wore civilian clothing, I could slip through the crowds before anyone could see the scar on my face and make it to the trees, where freedom awaited me.

”Please?” It was a faint whisper.

There was a shadow lingering at the bottom of the door, and I held my breath in anticipation. He was going to tear down that flimsy door in any minute, and there was nothing I could use to defend myself with besides my own hands. Internally, I began to prepare myself to give it everything I got as I waited for his presence. A quick aim to his knee or shin would hopefully give me enough time to make it to the front door. Once more, I anxiously tugged at the stubborn window, continuing to glance backwards, panic washing over me.

Through a small crack, I could make out the Sandwich King slowly sitting down, his long legs sprawled out on the floor. I leaned against the wall and gradually slid down on my back, spent from trying to open the window.

“I won’t hurt you,” he softly said. “I promise.”

A long silence passed between us.

I could see him resting his forehead against the door through a jagged crack in the plaster; his fingers lightly brushing the wood, placing a palm on top of it. His sweaty collarbones were exposed through the drawstring of his sweatshirt, which was covered in stains. I slowly peeked out from beside the dirty toilet seat. It suddenly began to grow quite cold in the room, and I couldn’t help but shiver. For a moment I thought I could make out a thin layer of frost on the peeling walls, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

He sighed as he shook his head. “My kitchen floor needs to be wiped down anyways, don’t you think? I’ve been procrastinating with that for months. You’ve already given me a head start.”

I shrank back until the cool tiles rubbed against my bare legs and tightly hugged my knees, shaking, waiting for the doorknob to turn.

His eyes slightly glistened with water as the smile on his face from the intended joke faded away, revealing his very crooked teeth. “I‘m really sorry. I had no right bringing you at my place like this without your consent. I know you’re very confused, but...I can tell you everything. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I can help you…you leave.”

A loud sniff erupted from my nose.

His deep voice was as soft as a summer’s breeze. "Would you like to be friends? I’ve…I’ve never had one before.”

Friends. The word made me raise my head as the lights flickered off again, and I glanced up at the water damaged ceiling.

”I’ve also never met someone with as many freckles as you. Were you born with them all, or did they just gradually appear over time? Oh, do you like mice? I hope you do. They come around here sometimes. There’s some that just had babies. Would you like me to show you? I make sure to leave extra food for them.”

I blinked twice, staring at a thin, pattered layer of frost started to crawl and grow around the edges of the door like a vine.

The Sandwich King looked down at the floor for a moment. His hand was resting on the surface of the door, but he didn’t move it. “I would love having you around, if you would like to stay. Just for a little while.” His voice trailed into a whisper. "If…if you don’t, I completely understand.”

With a heavy breath, I hugged my knees tighter.

“If you want... I can wait out here. I’ll be here if you need anything. I’m right here, okay?”

There was nothing but silence. After around forty minutes, I finally got the courage to creep forward, remove the stool as quietly as I could, and slowly open the door, pulling it back by just an inch. The creaking sound from the hinges made the Sandwich King look up with surprise, who was sitting right next to it and hugging his knees. The lights had flickered back on again; he immediately straightened up his posture. The moment we made eye contact, I drew back from behind the door again, heat rushing to my face. My sweaty fingers were glued to the doorknob, and I hesitated for a moment.

I slowly peeked out again with one eye.

He remained where he was, although I could see a soft, relieved smile appear on his darkened face as soon as he saw I was looking at him. A large gap settled between his two front teeth.

“Hey,” he faintly whispered.

I didn’t move.

“You…like my fridge, don’t you? Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” He paused and gradually got to his feet, as if he was afraid to move too quickly for fear of me closing the door again. “You haven’t been so well, which is why I…I brought you here. I can escort you back to the woods.” When he bit his bottom lip, he avoided eye contact. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But… how do you feel so far? Any nausea? You’re not throwing up blood anymore, which is a very good sign.”

It was the first time I had gotten a look at him this close. He loomed above me, managing to resemble a giant bear, the wild nest of disheveled hair on his head and arms reminding me of fire. Being extremely pale as he was told me that he often did not go outside much, usually only at night, when few could see him. His round, sunken face was heavily riddled with acne and small pox scars, most likely from a childhood illness. Stubble lined his jawline. A small metal stud was visible on the left side of his nose. And yet his large, round eyes were a dark, unique shade of brown, but rich enough for one to get lost into. Permanent lines settled between his eyebrows, dark bags settled under his eyes. A strong sour smell rose from him; his clothes were very dirty and stained, too large for his frame. When he slowly pulled down his sweatshirt hood, his long, disheveled red hair fell over his face. Awkwardly, he fidgeted with his bruised hands that were covered in cigarette burns, being almost hidden by his too big sleeves. His black, dirt rimmed fingernails were badly broken down on account of him biting them, which I had seen him do from time to time. Several veins bulged from the outside of his huge, calloused hands, which both of mine could fit into a single palm of his. Dimples settled on the corners of his cracked, blistered lips, which were covered in scabs.

Never in my life had I been completely alone with a man before. He had a very thick accent, one that I rarely heard even amongst the villagers at home. I liked the way he spoke and wondered if he was from the east coast. But I was too nervous to ask.

He softly smiled at me again. “If you want to leave soon, I completely understand. Just let me know when you are ready. I can help you leave tonight if you would like. Or...or even right now, if you’re not comfortable here with me.”

Carefully, I opened the door some more and stepped out. He leaned his back against the wall, his bare feet slightly digging into the shaggy carpet. Yet I didn’t really know that he didn’t want to sell me, and I was curious to know why. I suddenly was deeply ashamed for hitting him with a broom and throwing a coffee mug at him. But I had never been so relieved in that moment, irritated with myself for not listening to him, for letting my emotions dictate my actions.

The way he deeply gazed at me made blood rush to my face.

“I’m…sorry for stealing,” I clumsily signed. My fingers fought to find the right words. “It wasn’t right for me to go through your things. I’m truly, truly sorry. And I would like to be able to repay you for the sandwiches. I know how to hunt a little. But your belongings are so wonderful; where did you get them? How do your people manage to capture the wind in a box at will?”

The confusion in his eyes made me stop. I had forgotten that he couldn’t understand me. He then perked up and went over his backpack, pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and a pen.

”Can you write?”

I shook my head.

“That’s no problem at all. I..I can show you!” He said the words quickly, then looked down in embarrassment. “If you would like.”

* * * * * *

We both sat on opposite ends at the small, cracked table. One of its legs had been propped up with a plastic crate, so it was slanted at an odd angle. He suddenly set down some steaming hot broth in a very small bowl in front of me, along with two soda crackers, and then a worn water bottle. Startled and unsure how to react, I immediately pushed the broth away from me, accidentally causing it to slosh over the edge of the chipped bowl and slightly spill on the table.

“Not…not hungry? That’s okay,” he quietly murmured. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow. If there is one. What I mean is…if you would…uh, like to spend the night…here.” When he swallowed heavily, he began to anxiously pick at the dead skin surrounding his stubby nails, as if bracing himself for a refusal. “I…I…mean, in this room. You could use my bed. I don’t mind the floor at all; as a matter of fact, I can sleep in another room.”

I had no energy left to move, but I gave him a deep nod and signed my thanks, as fatigue was already taking over me. I tried to figure out where I could find some wild game or yucca in the woods to repay him well for the sacrifice he was making, once I was strong enough. While the mention of sleep in a safe place sounded too good to pass up compared to my hideout in the woods; I was terrified of what he would do to me if I refused. He was quite big and muscular, and could easily snap my bones into two if I made him angry. But I could sense deep relief falling upon the Sandwich King’s face. A few awkward minutes passed by as he looked down. The scent of that soup reached my nose, the gnawing hunger returned to me once more, still overpowered by nausea. Quietly, with shaking hands, I picked up the spoon and scooped up the broth from the bowl. After some hesitation, I took a few small sips, the unfamiliar flavor covering my tongue. I immediately put it down and began to nibble on the edge of one of the crackers.

The Sandwich King gave me a small smile, before sliding out a wrinkled piece of paper and awkwardly scooted his chair close to mine, making a dragging sound on the carpet. For a moment, he paused, before slowly pulling out the book I had spied in his bag, the cover streaked with mud and a few leaves. I immediately reached for it and opened it, running my dirty fingers against the water damaged pages.

”You can have it.” There was a faint glimmer of hope in his brown eyes once he saw my reaction. When I looked up, beaming, he suddenly looked away, a dark red shade settling across the bridge of his nose.

His large bare feet accidentally bumped against mine underneath the table as he began to scrawl some strange symbols on the surface of the paper. When the pen didn’t work at first, he scribbled it again until a thin line of ink spread across the page. He whispered the next sentence, nervously glancing up at me from behind his hair. “I’ll show you the basics, alright?”

I vigorously nodded, forgetting my fears momentarily and still hugging the book close to my chest. I signed my gratitude to him.

My first few letters were very bad compared to his graceful ones, but I didn’t want to give up. For every letter he wrote and sounded out, I took his hand and aligned his fingers in a way so that he could sign it. He told me his real name, which was Adlai, but I still wanted to call him Sandwich King. It wasn’t until the end of the day, when it was night time, that I finally managed to write my name on the paper and held it out to him. My fingers were smudged with ink.

The untouched soup became lukewarm, and finally cold. I had managed to get through half the second cracker, but finished the entire water bottle.

“Honda,” he softly said.

I nodded and pointed to my chest. “Name,” I signed.