Looking up at the man, confusion overwhelmed my features.

He and I sat in front of a desk with a clear top, which acted like a screen. A shape had been projected on it and he pointed to its respective name that sat below it. About 35 minutes had gone by since we first went inside the classroom. The same went for the other nineteen boys and their caretakers. All the desks were set in rows with a ten-foot space in between each one, to discourage anyone from distracting themselves with each other.

Leaning closer, the man tapped the corner of the desk, which caused the picture to enlarge. "C'mon, I know you can do this. Don't give up now. You're so close to saying it. Just give it a few more tries and you'll get it." Patience radiated soothingly from his tone. "Say triangle. Tri-an-gle."

Triangle had been repeated to such an extent that the word dominated my every thought. It seemed easy to say—my mind mimicked it perfectly, yet, speaking had been a hard task for me. I kept stumbling over the tricky pronunciation.

Exasperated, I threw my head back and whined to let the man know I'd had enough. My attention span was nonexistent at that point. The only things I wanted were my bottle and bed. I didn't care about anything else. Unfortunately for me, he remained persistent. I had no choice but to continue.

With reluctance, I opened my mouth once again and tried to mime the word he so wanted me to say. Unsurprisingly, I stuttered a couple times with the T sound, which caused frustration to wrinkle my brows. But the man reassured me and told me to take my time when speaking.

As I looked back on this event, I was thankful to how tender the man was with me. He never once appeared irritated or raised his voice to counter my complaining. His patience was something to admire. I wish I could give the same praise for some of the other caretakers that were in the room.

Even while he knew I couldn't understand him, I believe the reason he continued to speak to me despite my ignorance, was because he wanted me to be as familiar with speech as possible; and perhaps even his voice. There were dozens of masculine voices that were within earshot. He probably knew how confusing it would've been for me.

With another burst of encouragement, I willed myself to speak again. "T-T-Tyangole."

Scrapes were left on my clumsy tongue because of how rough the word came out. Even while my voice was deep, it came out sounding child-like.

Despite my obvious failure, the man still praised my efforts. "There we go! Took you a couple tries but you finally said something. Good job," he said cheerfully and patted my shoulder.

Witnessing his excitement and approval brought happiness to me—the new feeling caused warmth to reside within my bones, which felt satisfying, considering the chilled room I was in. The desire to speak more overwhelmed me if it meant this feeling of elation would remain. For the first time, I was compelled to smile; my lips stretched, although, not to the extent where my teeth could be seen, or eyes would squint.

"You almost got it, just need a bit more practice. Trust me, all this will be worth it in the long run, especially when you get a treat for saying it right." He winked.

The man took his time and went over the alphabet. Afterward, he wanted me to attempt the word again. My pronunciation wasn't perfect at first, because I then kept mistaking the R sound with that of the W. Yet, when it seemed as if I'd never get it, I finally said with a forced puff of air, "Tri—angle."

He applauded then had me repeat the word seven more times, to ensure I actually learned how to say it. With each time, I grew more confident and my voice bolder, not sounding unsteady or as fragile as when I first began. He had to request that I quiet down because I became too excited; he didn't want me disturbing the others who were in the room with us.

At the end of it, the man pulled out from his pocket a small ziplock bag with white chocolate kisses inside. He held one out to me, but I returned his gaze with bewilderment, not knowing what he wanted me to do.

With a sigh, he said, "C'mon, don't just leave me hanging. Give me your hand." His voice was gentle.

When I hadn't made an effort to move, he repeated the word hand and pointed toward his, which then allowed me to comprehend what he meant. Hesitation was my initial response, however, I did so anyway because I was curious as to what exactly he wanted with it. Turning to my right as I sat in the wheelchair, I meekly lifted my right arm from my lap and extended it to him.

Weakness still had a grip on my limb, yet it felt substantially stronger than it did the previous day. I was able to hold it up in the air without it trembling. Once the candy was placed in my palm, I brought my arm back to myself then eyed the odd treat quizzically.

What is this, I would've wondered if I had the words to. And what am I supposed to do with it?

"Triangle," I said unsurely after examining the shape of the candy, then peered up at the man for approval.

Quietly, he laughed as he shook his head. "No, it's more shaped like a cone, but nice try, though. Here, look at me. You're supposed to bite onto it, like this." He took a chocolate piece for himself then placed it in his mouth, all the while baring his teeth as he chewed, so I could see.

Before throwing the candy inside my mouth, I gave it a skeptical lick. My eyes widened at the taste. It was similar to that of the milk I'd grown to love so deeply. Without another thought, I ate it like how the man had shown me. I chewed awkwardly since it was my first time, but I managed and even asked for more. I held out my hand expectantly. But the man refused, wanting only to use them as a reward.

It was much to my displeasure and the temptation to weep became powerful. He knew I was readying myself to burst by my reddening race, quivering lips, and glistening eyes. Quickly, the man took action and spoke kindly, assuring me that I'd eventually have more. His calm and trusting demeanor helped me to withhold the sob. I could tell he was thankful.

"Alright," he said, "let's continue. You have to finish with this whole section by today. But don't worry, as long as you stay focused, this really shouldn't be much of a hassle."

A light glinted in my periphery and caught my attention. I snapped my head in the direction I saw the flash and was led to spy the man's neck. He wore a dotted, silver necklace, but the source of the gleam wasn't the chain, it was something that poked slightly from the collar of his shirt. Curiosity encouraged me to reach for it; although, since the accuracy of my hand-eye coordination was that of a toddler's, I'd missed it and grabbed his chin instead.

The man chuckled. He gently pulled my hand away and with his other grabbed the two dog tags from his collar, placing them in my palm. I was in complete awe as I stared at them, especially whenever I tilted them. The light flickered off the metal beautifully. I'd never seen something like that before and it captivated me. Without thinking, I put the tags in my mouth. But the man was displeased and took them away from me.

"Triangle." I tilted my head, not sure how to put my voice into a questioning tone.

Shaking his head, he wiped them down with his shirt then tucked the tags back inside his shirt. I was sad that he took them away. I whimpered but hadn't protested further.

"I really hope you're just joking around. But, enough play, let's get on with this, so you can go to bed quicker. Don't you want this to be over and go to bed and sleep?"

I did. But would this all be over once I woke up afterward? Even then, I didn't think so.

Four hours passed unbearably slow before the lesson was completed. My brain panted like a quenched dog after receiving such an enormous amount of information and ached almost as much as my bottom from having sat for so long. Taking breaks seemed as if it wasn't encouraged, although, they were inevitable when I and the others like myself became hungry, or if the bathroom was needed.

We went over a great deal of material that had to do with shapes, colors, and numbers—about an hour was spent on each subject. The final hour was basically a review of the three topics together. The man even had me say a couple of sentences that went along the lines of, the triangle is red, or there are three green rectangles.

Repeating words was one thing, but grasping the concept of what was being said was another; unfortunately, my understanding hadn't reached that level yet. All I was really capable of doing, at that point, was identifying different shapes and colors with their names. Don't get me wrong, it was a challenge learning how to decipher a rectangle from a square, yellow from orange and orange from yellow, blue from purple and vice versa—discerning things was difficult, but then again I was only a day old.

I remembered that the section on numbers was the most exhausting for me. How could I forget when even now I wouldn't consider myself a math genius? I was considered average in my learning. The geniuses were the ones who possessed an intelligence Fore-Light—they were also the most troubled, so I'm not exactly sure if I envy them or not.

Honestly, if it weren't for the man's encouragement or the occasional chocolate, then I don't believe I would've made it through even the second hour without throwing a tantrum. When the man wheeled me out of the room, a sigh of relief left me. The hope of not having to repeat another sentence again, repeatedly raced through my mind as we went down the sleek, white corridor. Unfortunately, not all hopes get answered.  

~§~§~§~

Worry grew in Joseph the more Two-Sixty failed to stand on his own. The confidence he once had in him slowly eroded like an aged metal left in the rain when he saw as the other Artificial Humans appeared to be progressing accordingly; their legs were still noticeably weak and jittery—some even collapsed, but they managed to hold their balance a whole lot better than Two-Sixty was able to.

A cold sweat trickled down Joseph's spine. They'd been practicing in the physical therapy room for almost an hour, yet, Two-Sixty couldn't even accomplish the simplest milestone. He couldn't stand on his own.

Nevertheless, Two-Sixty was encouraged by Joseph's sturdy hands holding him up. He tried all the harder to stand still without falling over despite the weakness in his right leg. They stayed like that for about 10 seconds before Joseph thought it was time to let go of him.

Unfortunately, as Joseph slowly removed his hands away from Two-Sixty's sides, sudden fear struck him. Two-Sixty's eyes widened and body tensed. Knowing he was unable to support himself, he gave up and tumbled into the man's arms. He clenched onto Joseph's white, unformed shirt so tightly it created deep wrinkles.

It wasn't long before Joseph caught onto the discouraging pattern. He noticed that even while he helped Two-Sixty stand, he would lean slightly to his left, so as to place more weight on his left leg rather than dividing it equally between the two. But what drew his attention the most was his right foot, which was turned inwardly at a slight angle.

Concerned, Joseph lifted and set Two-Sixty on one of the nearby exam tables. Curious, he wanted to see if massaging his seemingly lame leg and foot would help at all. He attempted to straighten it but his efforts were in vain—it kept turning back.

Is his leg injured? But from what, exactly? Something's not adding up.

Joseph's questions multiplied when Two-Sixty hadn't expressed he was in any pain while pressure was being applied to his leg. Instead, he seemed to relish the massage and noticeably relaxed against the tight, blue mattress.

Could it be that his leg's just weak?

Joseph placed his socks back on and pulled him up in a sitting position. Two-Sixty crinkled his face and a whine erupted from him. He knew the man was going to have him on his feet again, and the very thought was abhorrent.

Two-Sixty couldn't ignore the bond that had already built a foundation around him and his caretaker; despite this, he grew weary of the man's constant requests and wondered when he was going to be taken to a bed.

Regaining hope in Two-Sixty, Joseph heaved him up once more, though his unwillingness was evident in his downcasted eyes. Two-Sixty gripped Joseph's shoulders as he secured his hands under his ribs.

He thought of doing something different. Rather than having him try to stand by himself, Joseph stepped back and gave him some space to walk. Two-Sixty tilted his head, confused, and squinted his eyes.

It was as if he asked, What're you having me do this time?

Joseph knew that walking was a step too advanced for Two-Sixty, but he was anxious to see if his legs were able to move as they should.

He gazed into Two-Sixty's unsure eyes. "Don't worry, I'm right here with you, holding you up. It's not in my plan to let you fall," he cooed to lessen his hesitance. "I believe in you. I know you can do this. Just trust me—please."

While the boy was incapable of discerning the meaning of what he said, Joseph's genuine tone convinced him he was safe. When the man inched Two-Sixty's torso forward, he finally brought his foot to the front of him, but it took great effort. The boy softly grunted as his problematic leg trembled under his weight. Yet, it didn't give way like it had previously.

Hm, perhaps the massage worked?

Emboldened, Two-Sixty braved another step. The man was exhilarated by the similar results, however, the weakness in the boy's leg soon became reeling. It was as if a python, having pins and needles for skin, was coiled tightly around his ankle and shin area.

Not able to fight the feeling any longer, Two-Sixty's leg buckled, but as promised, Joseph caught him before his knees slammed onto the hard floor. Pulling him to his chest, Joseph rubbed his back and gave him praise for exceeding his expectations.

Eager to see him do better, he was going to stand him up again. Unfortunately, stubbornness had already reached its peak in Two-Sixty. Frowning, he released the man's shoulders and made his legs limp as he was still being held. Without any words, he let the man know that he'd had enough practice.

After Joseph carefully lowered him to the ground, on his knees, he urged him to continue. His new goal was to have him walk at least a few steps without any help, but Two-Sixty's mind was set. He remained unyielding and absolutely refused to walk again.

A sigh of disappointment left the man when he surrendered to the boy's will. He had no desire to force him. He'd already done so much for the day.

As he placed him back in his wheelchair, Joseph wondered if he made the right decision. Should he have pushed him further? In spite of his small worry, he shook the thought and took him out of the area.

He'll be able to walk during the evaluation, a week from now. I just know it. He has to.

_________

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