"Arthur. Little one, wake up, and tell me all your secrets."

He was awake. He had been awake and listening for quite some time. He wasn't sure why he was here or who these people were in his room. He supposed he should tell his mother, but he didn't want to worry her.
-

"Arthur, slow down. Give the rest of us time to at least try to look bad, will you?"

He ran faster. He was lettering in track if he didn't get kicked out for fighting.
-

"Arthur, you have to tell me."

"I don't have to do anything." He sidestepped the silky voice and the dusty shoes and walked toward his closet.

"Do you always wear such lovely clothes? Is this where you hide them?"

"You know I wear a uniform. Standard issue." Arthur frowned. There was something he was forgetting.

"Then why do you look ready for dancing, dear?"
-

"Arthur. What?"

"Get the hell out of my head." He sat up straighter, and his gun never wavered.

"What are you talking about? We were chatting before lights out and-"

"Then you won't mind if I shoot you."

"Of course, I'l mind. I'll mind quite a lot, thank you very much. That's going to hurt."

"Maybe." Maybe, Arthur thought again, before he turned the gun on himself.
-

"You all right?" He sounded colder here.

"Stay out of my head."

Arthur felt like he was going to puke. No one had told him it would actually feel like dying.

"No can do. It's my job and all."