12_Existence and its Resentment
 First
 That flash of exhilaration skipped through him as leapt to the next plank of wood, the board creaked under his feet as he adjusted his weight. The flat was sturdy, but angled too far from the next plank. He didnât mind being this high up, so long as the floor was visible. On the ground stood a Viewer, croaking at the television that captivated them. If only he could find another remote, though, he hadnât seen another television for a while.
 Still, itâd spit him out somewhere. Probably. He could always resort to tricking Viewers away, they always chased. That was the one thing good about them. Also, a remote would be better to haver, rather not. He kept his eyes attentive for one, aside from picking out other hazards that might go overlooked. He had to be extra cautious from here on out.
 This detour through this building got him out of the rain for a short while. Even if he didnât like being out in the weather, it was a challenge finding a door or window, especially with an access that led to the ground. And there were the Viewers.
 They were less intimidating outside, wherein many remained captivated by the awful Signal Tower. He got the shakes when he was caught up in a room with one, it didnât matter that a television was usually distracting them. He had that persisting fear the telly would just⌠explode, and then the garish deranged adult would fixate on the first moving thing it decided caused the complete implosion of its world.
 While he sat in a doorway, debating his next direction, he thought about the Tower. On the floor a few feet away, a clothing set laid out on a worn patch of carpet. Escape. He repeated the speek in his mind, it was too dangerous to utter aloud.
 Want.
 Give.
 Abandon.
 He undid the star printed blanket and gave it a shake. It wasnât as nice as his paper bag, but the material was warm. He bundled it up and hugged it to his chest. The sounds she made. She never made speek like that. He liked Her speek. It was hard to get accustomed to, but he made an effort. They didnât have many opportunities to sit andâŚ.
 Why did he even care? She tried to leave him. She wanted him gone. Why? He didnât understand. There was a lot of Six he didnât understand, but a lot more he did. Maybe it was bad memory. Let go, when too hurt? He didnât remember well. Memory was a jumble, full of sound and smells he didnât grasp. Lights and colors, a kaleidoscope of nightmares.
 Explosion. Ringing. Pain. Awake.
 He stood gawking up at the elevator lever. High. Too high. He likely wasnât heavy enough on his own, either.
 After going through the few accessible rooms on the same floor, taking stock of the Viewers secluded to some of these spaces and minding their own bees wax, he returned to the elevator and sat by the doorway. He pulled out a wad of fabric and unfolded the foods. It was starting to go bad, so he was eating more of the rations than he would prefer to reserve. However, he did find a few kitchens that still stocked supplies. It was just a matter of dumping out what he didnât want, eating what he could, and stashing whatever else he could manage. He didnât have that many pockets, and the weather⌠wrecked everything.
 A grating squeal erupted at his side, and Mono barely sprang away before the lift rushed downward. Without thinking, he dumped the cloth and jumped down onto the roof before it was too far out of sight. The cables thrummed and clicked as they rolled through the crank, light flashed through the gaps of metal gates of the bypassed corridors. He hoped he wasnât trapped in here now.
 The first opening that flashed in the side of the wall, he lunged. Barely catching it by his fingertips. The lift descended beneath, going further and further away, far into the abyss of the elevator shaft. He hefted himself up, catching the sharp edge of plaster with his elbow, and belly crawled until he was through the gap. A pile of trash below caught his fall, and he rolled.
 Small room, lots of shelves crowding the space. The chemical smell was intense, along with rot. The door was open ajar, so he poked his head out. Open corridor, it looked vacant. The jingle of a television carried in the background; further down the hall, the walls had collapsed entirelyâ
 Something moved.
 Mono huddled beside the doorframe, peering intently at one of the open portals further in the corridor. A shape dipped into the entry. He didnât like that. Quietly, he eased from the threshold and moved to the other end of the corridor. This direction intersected with the main corridor, crossing with the elevator. He paid careful attention to his surroundings. Maybe it was his imagination, or he saw wrong. But he wasnât taking chances. He needed to get out of this building.
 This task was made much easier than he anticipated. In one of the rooms he ducked into, there was a makeshift rope made from discarded shirts and butchered blankets. It was on the floor, partially completed; some of the line extended up a sill and down the side of the building outside. He couldnât climb it, until he finished a few more links.
 He wondered, as he worked knotting and tugging another link, did all the children get captured? The Viewers were not the only ones lurking around the city. He didnât expect to find the others, but he kept an eye out in case. Everybody was quiet and hide, sometimes frightened. He tried not to be frightened. If the danger, well⌠not all fights should be faced. Running was a good solution.
 Scaling down the completed rope wasnât difficult, even in the rain. However, he had never been great at building ropes, but thankfully he was not far above the sidewalk when the line lost tension and he dropped to his back.
 Ow.
 Stunned, he lay for a few minutes, the rain pelting his face and soaking his blanket hood. He was still a little tender from the⌠however long ago it was, he didnât know. That whole time was a blur. He kept thinking about the Hunter, finding Six, pain. Falling. If he thought about it too hard, his head began a piercing prick in his forehead, and his heart would race. Sometimes it was hard to breathe, to hold air and let it go. It hurt his whole body, and he didnât understand. Sometimes, everything hurt for no reason.
 Mono rolled over and got to his feet. The street was open, aside from debris and some wreckages from twisted buildings. It was everything he could get around or climb over. The road was passable, and he kept his focus on the mounds of ruble. In case a Viewer was lost, or something worse was out roaming.
 In the span of a clearing, he located a television device laying on its side. It was functioning, the screen spat and buzzed. Across from it, a Viewer who did not judge well the distance, lay crumpled on the ground.
 Mono went to the flickering screen and pressed his palm to the warm glass. He thought he saw images, in-between the rustle of static. Sometimes⌠a familiar hood, faces, eyes. A tall thin figure. He shook his head, beads of water flashed off.
 Where did she go? Was the Thin Man saying a truth? He didnât trust the man in the hat, regardless⌠that they helped the other. He did not leave, stole him, but couldnât say why. The tall thin man made no sense, and that was possibly the most dangerous sort of adult.
 Viewers. You knew what they did, and why. They wanted to stare into the static. They could be tricked in chasing, would jump to their demise. It wasnât hard, if knew how to get it done. There were many ways.
 The Thin Man⌠could hurt, but didnât. Doesnât know why he wouldnât. Mono could⌠he could hurt the Thin Man, but was scared. Something strange, and frightening familiar. He didnât understand.
 It would have been⌠nice to stay with the Thin Man, if it was allowed. Still, it wouldnât have been safe, there was too much unknown and threat, and risk. Security wouldâve been a temporary illusion, he couldnât figure how long the man in the hat would put up with him, or if he might snap at a moment. Adults and the monsters, their intents arenât known. Especially the Thin Man, doing these things. Being suspicious. Silent and watching, wanting something, biding, and waiting. Always searching empty air. Using Mono, to find someone. Six. He was so angry at himself, for the careless. It ruined everything. Even the man in the hat said so. If only⌠he could have done things different, paid more attention. Done better.
 He pressed his other hand to the screen and squeezed his eyes shut. In a breath it was all over, the odd pull and twisting vertigo ended, and he was through. He goes flying out, skimmed across a countertop and crashed to the floor. Papers and silt rain down over him.
 The place is dark and musty, dust swirled as he sat up and shook his coat. The floor was coated with water, but he didnât hear any sounds of water drumming. It didnât stop him from being wet. The whole place was full of clothing and other things. Heâs drawn to the light, and there finds one side of the building where a door stood in wait. The bottom of the glass is cracked and fallen out. He poked his head through, checking for movement or any possible threat. Where was he now?
 Coast was clear, so he slipped out. The wind picked up, sending a hard cascade of water across his head and body. He shook off some of the soaking and kept walking. The light was beginning to dim, and the Signal Tower burned brighter more as the minutes wound away. Ahead, the road became too corrupt for navigation, but there was an alley he could move into. The alley connected to the next road over, the path connected with more buildings that were not so tall nor intimidating. Gigantic they were all the same, but not looming constructions.
 This was possibly a good location to stop in. If it was getting late; sometimes, it was hard to tell. The weather was worse than its usual. The gale became biting, his hooded blanket was soaked through.
 An alley he nearly bypassed, randomly spurred his attention. It was one that, like many, was devastated and full of collapse from the buildings alongside it. What caught his eye was the dark alcove, among the chunks of cement. It looked like shelter.
 But oh wonder! Once he crawled within, he found the narrow passage went back much further. It moved into a small space, but not just any space. It was evident the area had been cleared of ruble. The ground is marginally clean and stable, some flattened boxes lay beneath the reaching giant slabs, along with random bits of trash
 And speek!
 Mono looked around, checking some of the present nooks and spaces in the ruble layered around. The speek was on most of the flat wall that was viable. He dashed to it and set his hand on it. The water bubbled across the waxy surface of thick colors. Someone worked hard on this.
 âOi?â he called, softly. And searched for a response. âOi-OI!â
 Nothing.
 He poked around some more, going through the bits of discarded papers â mottled and ruined by vigorous soaking. The flattened cardboard, beneath the overhang of cement slabs, was damp but intact. There were other bedding and supplies, such as ripped shirts, cotton padding, a few toys. A few worn out, well loved toys. He crawled into the space and picked up a metal thing, that vaguely resembled⌠a box with a face, and pinching hands. It had wheels on the bottom, and when he set it down, it rolled. It was rusted, but it still kind of could move.
 Where were they? And who?
 Mono rolled out from under the slab, and returned to the speek. He traced the wax layers with his fingers, titling his head. Trying to make sense of the messages it conveyed. Lines meant⌠days. The sun went away. Many lines decorated a slab of concrete.
 He shifted to another, lower portion of concrete. Three! One was in a funny shape, and there was maybe a girl? No, not his Six. And there was a smallest one. They were here. This was their home. There are other pictures, of the twisted shapes of the Viewers. And the Eyes. He didnât like the eyes. So many variations of the They that were here, and their adventures.
 The speek was a struggle to grasp. They did it well, but there was a lot to go through. There were many-many-many lines. Such a long while.
 The two scavenged for foods. The smaller one did not. Was too small? How was too small? What did that mean?
 Foods go scarce? Sometimes, that happened. Too many adults vanished from a place, the foods stop. That was why children always moved, to find where the foods went. He hoped that was what happened. Still, this was a problem for him. If this area no longer had foods, he wouldnât be able to stay in this shelter, either. Maybe, heâd stumble across them. Maybe.
 He looked at the abandoned bedding, and the marks lined up on the wall. A story of how children lived in one spot, for a short while. They lived here, and one day they went elsewhere. He wished he could find that elsewhere, he hoped it was safe. He hoped it had many things â many foods, many treasures, a place where there was no rain, no anger. What a place that would be.
 The blocky metal thing had a secret compartment, and that is where they kept the pieces of crayons. He took a few colors in one hand, and sheltered under the cement, he drew pictures on the wall beneath.
 There were some TVs, and a yellow person. The Tower should be there, too. He hated it, but it was a part of the story. As well, the tall thin man in a hat. Off on another slab of wall, he drew a figure in a good coat and a square head. He still thought of himself, with the paper bag. That was still him, though he lost his trademark. He should put a key, on the coat too. He was very clever.
 âMono was here,â he murmured, barely breaking a whisper. He switched out the colors. âScary things looked at him, and he looked back.â A crayon broke, so he had to fit the nub in his fist carefully to finish coloring.
 When he was satisfied, he scooted back on his knees. He leaned up just a bit, and colored in a ripped paper bag. That was part of the story too.
 A flash of lightening lit the sky, and he acknowledged that it was getting much darker. He pushed aside the crayons, then crept up into the tightest alcove beneath the slab, further from the spray of rain splattering in at intervals. He tucked his hands up under the sides of his coat, and bent his feet up under himself and nestled down.
 He missed sitting next to someone. He missed huddling with another body, sharing warmth. He missed the small bit of security and assurance it brought, to have that second pair of eyes and ears.
 Though the hidden niche was well fortified and absolutely nothing could find him within, he still jolted at every off sound here or out creeping through the alley. The wind and gurgling of water, slurring through cracks around him. All the same, it would have been nice to stay here a little longer and rest. Without a doubt, the other children that had used this space, left due to a shortage of foods. He wanted so much for that to be so.
 If⌠he did meet them. He wasnât certain if he was ready to pack again, so soon. It always seemedâŚ. Maybe he was cursed. That mightâve been the only real and genuine reason she sent him⌠away. He was cursed. She saw that. Knew how dangerous that was.
 An adult, a monster no less, caught him and couldnât kill him. Would find him again, if he wasnât careful. That was it. He was just cursed. Thatâs all it was.
 Mono tightened down into his own little bubble of warmth, and tried his hardest not to let it shatter with his shuddering breath. The strange child. No wonder the Tower called to him. Cursed.
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