There were certain times that Foxy felt that she was not in control of herself and she hated it. If there was one thing she had learnt properly is that one had to do everything to be in control. Yet, her walk with the clean man made her feel so horribly lost.

Now that she had regained her strength and senses. She had too many questions. What was this man? Why was he here? How come the slum dwellers were letting his pass by so easily? Was he dangerous? And most importantly, what was he doing with her?

Yet, as much as she tried, she could not bring herself to ask any questions. She was supposed to feel grateful. He had helped her. He had paid for her food. Who did that?

No one in the slums.

"Where are we going?" Foxy finally managed to ask.

"I don't know." He replied.

"Do you want something from me?"

He stopped. Foxy froze. Had she asked the wrong question? She felt her stomach flutter as the clean man turned to look at her. He tilted his head. Against the night sky, and limited light, his face was shrouded in mystery.

"What can you possibly give me?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"You see, kid, I do want something from you." He turned to look at the sky. "I want a lot from everyone, actually. But at the moment, I want to limit it to the people of the slum." He continued staring at the sky.

"You don't like the Moon." Foxy stated.

"I don't understand its beauty."

"What do you want from us?" Foxy asked quietly. This man. He was strange.

"Us?" He looked at her, and maybe raised an eyebrow. She could not see. "You're not like them."

Foxy pressed her lips in a thin line. It was like he was echoing her thoughts. All her life, she had felt that. She did not deserve to be in the slums. Yet, she never said it out aloud. She kept reminding herself that she was not different.

"What do you want from . . . them?"

"You don't like it." He went back to looking at the sky.

"What?"

"You don't like being different from them."

"I'm not."

Again, she had said something that diverted his attention from the sky and back to her. "Okay."

The man confused her. And she still did not understand why she was with her. It did not make sense. None of this made sense.

"How do you survive?" He asked after a while of silence. Foxy was getting tired of simply standing. She wanted to lie down. She was tired.

"I scavenge."

"Ah." He clicked his tongue. "Thumb."

She was not ashamed. She had to do what she had to do to survive.

"Why are you here?"

"I want to change the world!"

Frustrated, Foxy sighed, loudly. He looked at her. And then she saw him grin. Against the night sky, she could see his white sharp teeth. "Am I bothering you, kid?"

"My name is Foxy."

"Hi Foxy. You don't believe me."

"You want to change the world?"

"Yes."

"Lies."

She could not believe that she was talking to him that way. A man that she feared. She didn't understand where this bravado and frustration was coming from. But she continued,

"Every year, since I remember, in some chosen day by them; a group of people come to the slums." She said. Why was she telling him? She didn't know. "They come with their cam-bots and their 'sympathy'." She felt bile rising in her throat remembering them. She despised them. "They interview us and show us care. Then they leave, only to come back, next year."

The man listened to her intently. "I am not like them."

"I don't believe you."

"I know, Foxy. I don't blame you. I'm not here you to make you believe me, though." He looked away. "You are not important."

Foxy gritted her teeth. "Then what am I doing here?"

He shrugged, "I felt like having company."

"Can I go?"

"Or you could stay."

Foxy felt her sass pour in, "Why?"

"Because this is the safest you have been in years. And because I might be able to find a use of you, after all."

Did he read her mind? It was the truth, again. The reason why she was not simply walking away from was because she liked his presence. The bit of care that he had shown to her. And the way the people had reacted when they were around him. This was the type of man that you kept close.

Even if you feared them.

"I don't understand you."

"You don't have to."

"So what am I suppose to do?"

"Anything you want."

They were talking in circles and he was doing it intentionally. He was playing with her. But why?

"I am leaving." Foxy announced.

"Okay." He said and then added, softly, "Good night, Foxy."

She looked at him. Or the back of his head.

What was he?

"Good night." She said meekly and left.

▪

She slept only for few hours and when she woke up, the sun was bright and annoying. Her sleeping spot was secluded, away from the slum, a bit, and inside a half broken debris of what should have been a building.

She didn't know why the building was never made. But she knew a lot of slums were destroyed. It was all everyone could talk about for a year. And then the building stopped being made.

No one had anything to say about it.

She liked the debris. Once, she had found a little kitten in it. She had tried to feed it. But she didn't have enough and the kitten died. That was the way of the slums. Weak people did not survive.

Foxy stared at her tied up wound. Then, she place her hand inside her underwear and took out her thumb. She stared at it. Had she overreacted when she had lost her thumb? She looked at the thing. She had dirt under her nails and the thumb was growing dark. Few hours had passed anyway. Soon it would die.

She sighed. And her memory reminded her of how the clean man had smelled. He didn't seem least bit perturbed by the stink, or the corpses, or the dirty people. He was not like those once-in-a-year people. Had she been harsh?

But it didn't matter. Clearly, he didn't care. Why would he care about the opinion of a kid?

With these thoughts in her head, Foxy found herself standing up. She folded the piece of cloth that was her bed and placed it under a brick. Then, she smoothed her hair; this was her failed attempt on combing. She gave her sleeping spot a parting look, and left, it was time to scavenge!

▪