The Boy with no Name
A 07-Ghost Story
A man in a black uniform with gold stitching and accents sat at a table across from a child - a boy - with chocolate brown hair and bright green eyes. The boy's eyes were cold, and he stared straight ahead. The man had a clipboard, and was asking the boy questions. There were other men in uniforms, and other boys, but none so beautiful nor so cold as the green eyed child.
"Name?" asked the man in the black and gold uniform.
"Two thousand seven hundred forty one."
"Not your number, slave. We have that. What was your name before you were assigned a number?"
The child looked at him blankly. He didn't know what the man meant.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir," said the child.
"We can't let you into school without a name. What's your name?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir," the child repeated.
The man looked annoyed, which frightened the child. But he had been trained to be free of all emotion. To kill without asking. He did not show his fear.
"Your name, slave! You must have had a name before you were sold."
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't remember any time before I was a slave."
"You…" He ran a hand over his face. "We can't let you in without a name. Figure something out."
"Sir, pardon me if I am too bold, but I have no knowledge of names beyond those I knew as a slave, and there were precious few names. Might you give me a name, sir?"
The man looked at the beautiful, cold child in disbelief. He had never had to deal with a problem such as this before, and it annoyed him nearly as much as the child repeating himself had.
"I don't have time for that, slave. Surely someone must have given you a name?"
"My apologies, sir, however-"
"Officer Kururugi," said another man in uniform, coming up to the one sitting with the child. "This child has special circumstances. Miroku-sama has provided us with his name. Send him on, and we'll add it later. We have all his other information, after all."
The child, having heard the name "Miroku", brightened slightly - if you could call it "brightening." He didn't become happy - his eyes merely grew brighter, as if he had finally recognized something; had finally come alive.
"I understand, Captain," said Kururugi, and he finally fixed his eyes on the child. "Slave, you are to go on. You will receive any equipment other than your uniform when you arrive at your barrack. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir!" said the child, and moved on, walking in a perfectly straight line, walking as if he had a purpose - though this child with the bright green eyes and chocolate brown hair, this beautiful child who had lived as a slave, had never had a true purpose in his life, and still had none.