By Chasity Smith

“Her. I’ll take her.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Did I not make myself clear? I want her. Look at the state of her. She needs care, not the hatred of her caretaker.”
“But that—that’s Carmine. She has dissociative identity disorder. She’s only fifty points and a very difficult child to deal with. Surely—”
“You have quite a bit of trouble understanding my words, don’t you?”
“But, Mr. Snow, surely you must not be thinking clearly! Surely one of the other children would be—”
“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.”
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.”
“I’ve seen all I need to see. Now, I will adopt her or I will not adopt any of them.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course, Mr. Snow. If you’ll follow me.”
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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