As I wake up again, it doesn’t take long for me to regain my awareness. I remember quickly, but I keep my eyes shut and my body still. I hear nothing in the room with me, but someone could be sitting quietly. I know it’s only been at most twenty-four hours since he came in. I feel my stomachache with the hunger pains I am no longer a stranger to. My mouth is dry and my body hurts. But I must think clearly. I must figure out a plan. I will not stay here. I hear creaks in the ceiling above me as people move about upstairs. Frustrated, as the room is so dark, I can’t make out what’s around me. I don’t know where I am or how far away my camp is. Even if I do make it out of here, will I be able to make it back? Will I get lost trying or have to start over? He said they’re going to hold me here for a while, so I have some time. All these thoughts rush through my mind rapidly. Jumping from one thought to the next makes it hard to stay calm.
I take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, there’s nothing to see anyway. For the first time in a long time, I let my mind wander back to before. Before the news broke and before I had to start sheltering in my home. When my parents would tell me “It’s going to be okay”, or that “this will all blow over…”. The denial of the truth was the most damaging. If I had caught on quicker, I could’ve erased all proof of me and run away sooner. Maybe then my family would still be alive. Although I know it’s not directly my fault they’re dead, how could I not feel that way? I feel guilty for living. Living while they’re all dead. So why have I been fighting all these years? Why have I managed to keep evading traders and scavenging just enough to stay alive. I never was very tough before. In fact, I was pretty weak. I was average in school, kept relatively fit, but lived a comfortable easy life in my suburban neighborhood. Never without food, heating, or air conditioning. I was planning on going to college to be a nurse. My real passion was art and literature, but I figured I’d get a real job that I could support myself with and find time for my hobbies later.
I was in my second year of medical school when stuff started coming out on the news about people that were inherently violent and promiscuous. “A threat to world peace” was plastered all over the news, as politicians and world leaders discussed the “threat that has been pushed aside for generations…”. Although, when this news and rumors started to spread no one could have guessed the ramifications of such claims. Or maybe someone did. Someone pulling the strings behind the scenes. Someone with enough power, enough hatred, and enough ego decided this one gene was a major contributing factor to all the major issues of the world. That if these people were wiped out, the world would be a safer place.
Growing up I was only slightly aware of my physical difference. Occasionally other kids would make comments that were mean, but what’s new? These comments, that were rare, didn’t even really bother me. I was more confused that something trivial like that was so notable to them. I was always more concerned with not making a fool of myself at school, the stupid rules my parents made me follow, or how many friends I had. Everyone sees life differently, I guess. I always felt like an outcast, but it was no different than how any other teenager feels in the confusing time of transitioning from a kid to an adult. But now I truly am an outcast. It is literally illegal for me to be free. For me to be alive.
It is so strange to think back to my life before. It was so easy and comfortable. I’d read about horrible things happening in other countries. Horror stories that seemed so far out of reach for me, I truly couldn’t fathom any of them actually being someone’s reality. But it is the reality I face every day and I try to not let myself forget that. Some night, when I felt safe in my hiding place, my mind would drift, and I’d start to think I’d wake up the next day and all of this would be over. Or that this was all just a sick joke. A nightmare that would end and I could just go home back to normal life. But as I shift uncomfortably on this bed with my wrists raw from the rope that binds them together, I am painfully reminded of my reality. I take another deep breath.
“Are you okay?” A voice asks from across the room. My whole-body flinches on instinct and my eyes involuntarily shoot open to see who spoke. I quickly shut them. Ten years of hiding trains the body
Of course, I didn’t answer. What am I supposed to say?
“That’s probably a dumb question, isn’t it?” This is a different man than before. I feel him move closer towards the bed. He stands over me for a while in silence and I turn my head away from him trying to keep my face neutral. It’s always best not to give any hints into any emotions, but I probably have a permanent furrow in my brows. Suddenly I feel a warmth radiating over my face. As his hand makes contact with my cheek my whole-body tenses and I jerk away as much as my bindings let me. Pain sears through my wrists and my shoulder ache.
“Sorry! Hey, I won’t hurt you! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you! I just... I..”. He trails off. I know he backs off because the sound of his voice moves. He does sound genuinely apologetic. All you’re doing is hurting me, I can’t help but think. If you truly don’t want to hurt me, let me go. He stands in silence for another minute, and I hear him sigh. Then the door opens and shuts quietly. Now, I believe I am alone.
Several hours have passed, and I am suffering. I’m hungry, thirsty, and my body is stiff. But what the real torture is, is being left here to dwell with my thoughts during what are probably my last days alive. I assume the end goal of what the traders will do is kill me, but what happens leading up to that I don’t know. I doubt it’ll be a tea party though. I’ve already had to endure several…assaults. Just the cherry on top right? If I’m what’s causing the world to suffer, why are they using me like this? Why not just kill me and be rid of us for good?
I guess we do really live in a fallen world. Everyone thinks they have the answer, that they know best. What does anyone really know?
Exhaustion takes me, and I am grateful for the break from my reality as I fall into the abyss of a dreamless sleep.
Comments (2)
See all