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The Giver

 

The newborn squirmed and wailed faintly "Why's he-""Shhh," The giver said sharply. His father was talking, and Jonas realized that he was hearing the answer to the question he had started to ask. Still in the special voice, his father was saying, "I know, I know. It hurts, little guy. But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arm are still too teeny-weeny." He pushed the plunger very slowly, injecting the liquid into the scalp vein until the syringe was empty. "All done! That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jonas heard his father say cheerfully. He turned aside and dropped the syringe into a waste receptacle. Now he cleans him up and makes him comfy, Jonas said to himself, aware that the giver didn't want to talk during the little ceremony. As he continued to watch, the new child, no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. His head fell to the side, his eyes half open. Then he was still. With an odd, shocked feeling, Jonas recognized the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn't remember where. Jonas stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The little twin lay motionless. His father was putting things away. Folding the blanket. Closing the cupboard. Once again, as he had on the playing field, he felt the choking sensation. Once again he saw the face of the light haired, bloodied soldier as life left his eyes. The memory came back. He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realizing. He continued to stare at the screen numbly. His father tidied the room. Then he picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. He placed the lid on tightly. He picked up the carton and carried it to the other side of the room. He opened a small door in the wall Jonas could see darkness behind the door.


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