"Finish everything."
The reminder came softly, but it was enough to make a few of us straighten in our seats.
No one liked being reminded twice.
I scraped the bottom of my bowl, watching the last bit settle before lifting it. Around me, the others were doing the same—some faster, some slower, but all careful.
When the last spoonful was gone, we waited.
Chairs didn't move unless we were told.
"Good," the voice said after a moment. "You may go play."
That was all it took.
The room changed instantly.
Chairs slid back, feet hit the floor, and the quiet restraint from before dissolved into laughter and movement. Someone grabbed my arm as we rushed out together, nearly pulling me off balance.
"Come on!"
"I'm going ahead!"
"You always run first!"
The hallway felt brighter somehow, even though nothing had changed. We didn't question it. We never did.
Playtime was our favorite.
The doors at the end were already open.
We spilled outside into the yard, the ground soft beneath our feet. The air was cooler than inside, carrying a faint scent that I couldn't quite place. It lingered at the back of my throat, familiar but distant.
"I call this side!" someone shouted, running toward the far fence.
"There's no sides!"
"There are today!"
A few of the smaller ones followed, their laughter echoing as they stumbled over each other.
I stayed near the middle.
The fence stretched high around us, its lines straight and unbroken. It always looked the same, no matter how long you stared at it.
Someone once said there was more beyond it.
No one says that anymore.
"What are we playing?" I asked.
"Tag," came the answer immediately. "You're it."
"What? Why me?"
"Because you asked."
"That's not fair."
"It is."
Before I could argue, they scattered.
I stood there for a second, watching them run—fast, careless, free in the way only playtime allowed. Then I exhaled and started after them.
The ground felt uneven in some places, softer than others. I adjusted without thinking, my steps falling into a rhythm I didn't remember learning.
Ahead of me, someone tripped.
They hit the ground with a sharp sound, followed by a small gasp.
I reached them first.
"Are you okay?"
They nodded quickly, already pushing themselves up. "I'm fine."
There was a faint mark on their arm.
I stared at it for a second too long.
It looked… wrong. Not like a scrape. Not like something from falling.
"Don't look at it," they said, quieter now.
"I wasn't."
"You were."
I looked away.
"Let's just keep playing," they added, forcing a small smile.
"…Okay."
We rejoined the others, the moment slipping away as easily as it came.
Laughter filled the yard again.
Someone brushed past me—too fast to catch—and I turned to chase them, my earlier thoughts fading with each step.
At the edge of the field, near the fence, one of the older ones stood still.
They weren't playing.
They were watching.
"Why aren't you joining?" I called out.
They didn't answer right away.
Their gaze stayed fixed somewhere beyond the fence, where nothing could be clearly seen.
After a while, they spoke.
"…Do you think they watch us during playtime?"
I slowed.
"What do you mean?"
Another pause.
Then they shook their head.
"Nothing."
They turned and walked back toward the others, just as someone tagged me from behind.
"You're it again!"
"That doesn't count!"
"It does!"
"It doesn't!"
Their laughter drowned everything else out.
I ran after them, faster this time.
Behind us, the fence stood tall and quiet.
And somewhere—just for a moment—
I thought I heard something move beyond it.
But when I looked back,
there was nothing there.