Inspired by events in the video game Final Fantasy VII (Square 1997).

Many thanks to Arafel and Lord Raziel for astute and generous proofreading and
Dawnwalker for kind word supply.

Thanks to the city itself (Hallesches Tor, Kottbusser Tor, Schlesisches Tor, Gare de
Nord, Gare d'Europa...)









Enclosure







To escape, to quit his place of confinement; the rooms with the yellow peeling walls
and the smell of industrial cleaner, the narrow bed in the dormitory, the other boys
with their sharp elbows and scornful glances. To leave his life of humiliation and
unwanted solitude, that was his ambition and hope. It sustained him through weeks
and months of silence amidst a large crowd of similarly aged boys and a loneliness
which was like a hunger inside.

He was aware that his stay with the academy was charity, a draw of luck along with
other equally unfortunate individuals. The majority of the children in the academy
had parents who were employed by the company, they would grow up inside the
corporate school system and go on to attain indenture with the firm. He was a part of
a small cadre of children whose parents had died during their time with the company
and which the company considered itself obligated to raise on their behalf. These
children were schooled at the academy in exchange for service in the company's
army upon graduation, considered unfit for performance in any of the other branches
of the firm.

Distancing him further from the other stipendiaries, he had never known his parents,
but been raised exclusively by the company institutions in the city. The company had
never revealed the identity of his parents and he had never had the opportunity or
boldness to ask. He had merely been told he had been orphaned in infancy and he had
no choice but to accept this information. Now he was the company's property and
belonged in the long three-story building used to educate three hundred and fifty
boys and prepared for the soldierly duties which would begin when he turned sixteen.
The schooling and the preparation for a military life was not something he resented.
He accepted the education and even felt at ease with it, but it was the loneliness, his
inability to connect with other human beings even among a sizable crowd of people,
the constant longing for companionship which never appeared, that caused him to
seek new avenues for his life.

He couldn't remember when the loneliness had started, because he couldn't recall a
time when it hadn't been present. A silent part of him suspected that the loneliness
was the expression of a deep-seated yearning that was an integral part of him, not
simply the result of lack of companionship, but a pull to somewhere other than where
he currently was independently of the environment or circumstances he found
himself in, and one which he would always feel. But it was also clear to him that
significant parts of his life were highly unsatisfactory when compared with the lives
of others. He didn't think he was being jealous of the other boys, of the ease and
straightforwardness with which they interacted with each other, he merely observed
that the other boys as well as the teachers had a different kind of interaction with
each other than any of them had with him, and that that set him apart.

He had longed for companionship so intensely he had fallen ill, but when no
alleviation of that yearning happened, a dream of escape had slowly taken its place.
He had long since decided on a destination; one of the small and remote islands on
the southern continent with their sandy beaches and secretive forests. There he
imagined life, even solitary life, would be good. He'd spear fish in the island's
shallow lagoon, roam the forest by day and sleep under the ancient light of the stars
at night. He might be alone and perhaps starving, but at least he'd be away from the
scorn of the other boys and in sovereignty of his own life.

His dream of escape, of quitting the place of pain, burned like fire in him, warmed
him on long nights when he lay under a thin and coarse blanket listening to the
dreaming cries and mattress creaks of a hundred other boys. It got him up in the
morning when a new day of solitary silence and sitting bent over the homework at
the desk in the classroom loomed ahead and it enabled him to make plans for the
future when hopelessness was close.

He had an old poster showing the long stretch of sandy beach and gracefully curving
palms of a southern island folded together in his chest, the repository of private
belongings that every boy had sitting beneath the foot end of their bed and which
none of the teachers were allowed to open. He needn't take the poster up to know
what it looked like, he could easily bring it up for his inner eye, complete with the
paper's white fold lines criss crossing the azure blue of the water and the white
brightness of the foreign sky. He knew that the poster's vista of a shallow lagoon
with a warm breeze rippling the surface of the water would one day be his. Beyond
the beach, the island's forest would be wet and moist and the oddest of animal noises
would ring through it, but crossing it he wouldn't be scared because he'd know the
way to the heart of the island; a hidden waterfall and lake in which he'd collect fresh
water and hunt and play all day long.

He had at first planned to stow away onboard the many ships bound for the western
continent, to put as much distance between himself and the company as possible and
then find a way to reach the southern islands from there. The previous spring his
ambition to run away had spilled over into action. He had finally regarded himself
old and experienced enough to cope with life on his own and had broken out of the
compound, eager to realize his dream of escape and forming its name on his lips and
hands for the first time. He had bolted through the March darkness, exhilarated that
he had gotten outside the chain-link fence without being stopped, ecstatic of being on
his own, and had headed for the ship docks. That time he hadn't gotten far, even he,
with his pride honed sharp by solitude and rejection, had to admit that. The escape
had ended on a gravel-covered plot storing concrete pipes with a diameter larger than
his height, pinned up against the rough surface of a pipe trying to stave off the dogs
they had released for him, waiting for the guards to find him, collar the dogs and
bring him back to the academy. When he had returned, he had received twelve blows
on the back with the headmaster's cane for the escape attempt.

He didn't understand why the company couldn't let him go, why it mattered to them
that he remained at the academy. None of the teachers seemed to be much concerned
about his presence in the classes and he knew none of the boys would miss him when
he left. What did it matter if one boy broke out and disappeared on the western
continent? His guardians' possessiveness was another piece of the puzzle of his
origins he had never managed to solve. He didn't cared to do so either. He only
wanted release from the academy and his current situation of solitary life inside a
distant and merciless crowd.

He had attempted to escape but been caught and forced to experience rebuke and
humiliation upon returning. But this time it was going to be different. The previous
escape attempt had taught him the need for preparation and to have climate and
season on his side. Fleeing in cold and darkness wouldn't do, that was doomed to fail
from the start. Now he was older and far more sensible in judgment and would find
another way to escape.

The first thing he needed was light to see by for his escape, even if parts of it would
take place at day. He had stolen a flashlight from the basement darkroom, dismantled
it and hid the various pieces among the plastic reels and spattered tanks of developer
and fixer on the shelves there. One by one he had brought the pieces upstairs hidden
in his clothing to deposit the little treasure in his chest. During one of the rare trips
with the class in the city he had managed to duck into a corner shop and buy batteries
for the flashlight and return to the crowd before the teacher had noticed his absence.

The next thing he had considered he needed for the escape was something to defend
himself with and for that he had collected a fork from the kitchen. Apart from being a
weapon, it could double as an eating utensil, so he had chosen a fork instead of a
knife. A knife would also elicit a much harsher punishment if his theft was
discovered, so that decision had been easy.

As sustenance on the journey, he had stolen two packets of biscuits from the kitchen,
it wasn't much but better than nothing. He had hoped other imperishable and
lightweight foods would appear, but that hadn't happened.

Lastly, he had judged he needed something to carry his supplies in and had tucked
away a pillowcase from the laundry while drying his clothes one afternoon. Each of
the stolen items would earn him at least five blows and public humiliation, as well as
a stunted chances for escape, if he were caught with them. Blows and humiliation
were common enough, so he feared the latter more than the former. Having his
chances for escape reduced would be catastrophic, it would mean a protracted time in
the academy and that was not something he wanted to have happen.

From his seat at the desk in the classroom he glanced out of the window. A red sun
was about to go down over the compound fence and the harbor cranes in the distance.
A flock of birds lifted to the sky in the rosy dusk, circling the emptiness between the
compound, the company's main building that loomed across the street and the faint
metal silhouettes of the cranes once before disappearing from view. He smiled to
himself and curled his hands into resolute fists beneath the desk's scratched surface.
Tonight was as good as any night to break out, it was in the middle of summer and
warm and bright. He'd make it.