The crowds lining the main street are restless, shuffling their feet and talking altogether too loud in hopes of hiding their discomfort at being part of the annual event. No one can really remember how we got to this point, but almost a half century later, we are least all still feeling some semblance of shame. Perhaps that means we have not yet totally forgotten what it means to be human.
When the horn sounds, conversation ends and the jockeying for position begins. It looks like chaos, but there is a system in place. Those with money to burn end up at the front, while the rest of us are nudged to the rear. While society has, in many ways, changed, the gulf between the haves and have nots remains the same.
Before long, we see the children turn onto the street, all shackled together with numbers painted on their ragged clothing. Those leading the way look fit, healthy, and well fed, while the stragglers are emaciated little things that are little more than thin flesh stretched over jutting bones.
These younglings are different in many ways, but the one thing that binds them together is that they are unwanted. Some were born out of wedlock, a crime punishable by death to the parents. Then there are the sociopaths, the little shits who cannot be controlled by their elders. Finally, there are the kids who were, to use the official phrase, “Born Wrong.” Some of them will go unclaimed, even though they are offered at a bargain basement price.
As soon as the children reach us, the bidding begins, and those chosen are plucked from the throng and handed over to the successful buyers. It doesn’t take long for all but a few to be selected. A few of the cast offs are selected, too, which is not altogether surprising. Desperation always kicks in when the herd is thinned. Even now, it’s still tough to pass up a bargain, especially when you are as hungry as we all are.
No apology necessary. Unless you ate the last one...
Are they Irish children, by any chance?