By Chasity Smith

“Her. I’ll take her.”<br /> “I’m sorry?”<br /> “Did I not make myself clear? I want her. Look at the state of her. She needs care, not the hatred of her caretaker.”<br /> “But that—that’s Carmine. She has dissociative identity disorder. She’s only fifty points and a very difficult child to deal with. Surely—”<br /> “You have quite a bit of trouble understanding my words, don’t you?”<br /> “But, Mr. Snow, surely you must not be thinking clearly! Surely one of the other children would be—”<br /> “Be what? Better? She has just as much potential as any of the others, and the fact that you can’t see that is something you must address within yourself. I was only a fifty-point child, but look at me now. I am the most successful person in this country.”<br /> The secretary looked at me in surprise. “Mr. Snow, are you sure I can’t persuade you to take another look at the higher-value children? Someone of your caliber deserves a better child, especially considering how far you’ve risen in our society.”<br /> “I’ve seen all I need to see. Now, I will adopt her or I will not adopt any of them.”<br /> Her eyes widened. “Of course, Mr. Snow. If you’ll follow me.”<br /> I followed her on a trek down the long halls of the building, past the young children covered in scars. Scars that I myself bore.

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