Chapter 15
At seven a.m. light fills the cell block and the sound of the morning bell chimes out through the air. I struggle to pull myself up out of bed, and I rub my eyes furiously with my palms. Today is going to be one of those days in which I must be completely aware at all times. No room for mistakes here.
The sound of fifty faucets turning on and splashing into our dirty copper sinks simultaneously is a reminder that if you’re not already at your sink, you need to hurry up. We all seem to fall into the same routine here-- clean up, get dressed, and get ready for what we’re doing that day, if anything.
Sometimes they’d take us to another courtyard and have us pick through old scrap metal to find pieces they might be able to salvage, but they soon found out that the girls they have here aren’t too sharp when it comes to metal. Our knowledge of the subject is rudimentary at best.
Just because we have a history of wearing jewelry doesn’t mean we know the difference between iron and silver, or for one instance with one of our dumber inmates-- gold and copper. Let’s just say we threw away quite a bit of valuable metals that the government had been desperately searching for. But hey, it’s their fault they are incapable of teaching us how to do things right.
Other times they’d have us make massive amounts of mud. There’d be girls carrying water, girls carrying sand, and girls carrying dirt. You can guess that absolutely none of them were happy to be doing so. They do that quite infrequently, due to the fact that everyone gets ten times bitchier, and the guards just don’t want to have to deal with our cattiness. Hey, at least they’ve come to one smart conclusion.
I finish up washing my hands and face and turn the faucet off. I can still hear the water running in other cells, so I know I’m not running late. I slip on the clothes that I was wearing when they caught me. Strangely enough, when they brought me here, they left me with the clothes I was wearing and they also gave me a couple other outfits. The lack of black and white striped jump suits is one thing I’m content about.
The feeling of blue jeans is a great comfort to me. At least the world still has the same type of style even after the calamities that have occurred. I slip on my red and blue raglan shirt and put on my black Vans.
There are no mirrors anywhere, so I have taken to just feeling my face for anything astray. I was low maintenance before, and now I could probably get away with doing absolutely nothing, but I still like to take care of myself. Somebody’s got to.
I finish up and turn around to sit back on my bed when I notice the curly haired guard by my door. I look at him, waiting for him to speak, but he remains silence. I walk over directly in front of him, wondering if maybe he’s spaced off, but once I’m standing in front of him he looks down at me and looks into my eyes.
He tosses a small folded note to me and walks away without saying a word. It appears this is just a time in my life where I’m receiving hand-written notes. Who would’ve thought?
A hardly legible sentence is scrawled on this little note and I have to squint to read it-- it’s that tiny.
“The plan is a go.”
The thought of whether the handwriting is his or Mara’s runs through my mind, but I decide that’s not all that important and I’ll probably figure that one out later. I put the note into my pocket with Mara’s Gran’s note and stand up.
My muscles are tense and I decide I should stretch. Have to make sure I can do all of the running that I may or may not need to do today.
I cringe as I hear my neck crack loudly and the relief that floods my knee after I put it back in its socket is immense. I guess I just haven’t really noticed how much of a wreck I am. Knots of pain roll out of my back as I stretch out my whole body.
There’s a small sense of satisfaction that lingers in my mind. All of those sprints and lunges I had to do when I was a part of my track team will probably pay off soon enough. Having a sound mind and a sound body should be more important to people, but I doubt that’s truly the case for most- at least back when people were alive and the world as we know it was simply an incredibly distant cataclysmic nightmare.
The feet of the guards walking by fall heavy on the ground, making us all well aware of their presence. Then there’s a loud noise that cuts through the air. The sound of the morning bell spills through the air and all of the cell doors open in unison.
We all step out of our cells and walk in a straight line out into the courtyard. They’ve obviously got a task for us to do today.
“Halt!” shouts one guard.
“Turn!” shouts another.
We follow these orders to a tee, and then look past the guards that are lined up facing us adjacently. We know better than to look them in the eye.
A little line of ants retreating back into their anthill is obliterated as the rat guard carefully places his large foot on top of them. Those poor little souls. His arms are folded behind him, and he looks as though he’s inspecting us-- like we’re a part of the military or something.
He steps in front of one of the scrawnier girls and analyzes the look on her face for a good two minutes, but then finally decides he should break the consuming heaviness of this silence. It’s starting to give me a headache.
“Good morning ladies. I hope you slept as soundly as a group o’ girls at a slumber party,” he says.
Ha! The nerve this man has. He’ll be getting a taste of own medicine soon enough though.
“I’m sad to inform you all that a dear inmate of yours has passed away-- quite suddenly in fact. She was completely well one night and then quite dismal the next. Her condition fell so dramatically, in such a short amount of time that we didn’t even have the time to help the poor dear.”
What a load of blasphemy. Who’d they kill this time?
“But no need to worry, she’s certainly in a better place. Can’t get much worse than this bunch of yours,” He says this as if he were talking to himself. What an imbecile. He pauses and picks dirt out of his nails, but continues on. “But I tend to doubt that any of you really spoke with her, considering she was a poor pathetic little mute of a girl.” He deliberately stops and looks at Mara who has, without warning, covered her mouth with her hands-- the only movement to be seen throughout the line.
“Alas, but anyway, back to business,” he says nonchalantly with that evil smug grin spreading across his face. If it was up to me, I would punch this fellow right in the teeth, make him retrieve all of his teeth, and stick them back in all by himself.
He instructs us that we will be helping with the sorting of a variety of different fruits for the morning and then walks off. We get breakfast and then it’s time to work.
The line dissolves and I hurry over to Mara who has fallen to her knees and broken into tears.
“Mara! Please! Calm down- it’ll be oka-,” I say until she breaks down into deeper and louder sobs. I can truly say that I’m not all that great at comforting those who are going through tough times. The words just never come to me.
“But how could they?!” She shrieked. She pulls herself up onto her feet and teeters at she struggles to maintain her equilibrium. “They killed one of the most innocent people I’ve ever known! We can’t go on without her!”
I attempt to grab hold of her to keep her from wavering, but she refuses my help and falls back to the ground. She hugs her legs up to her chest and starts to sob a little less, a raging river turning into a small bubbling brook. I crouch down and sit next to her and decide it’s just best for me to wait until she’s level-headed again.
A small bug flies through the air and begins to quiver as the dust of the ground is brought into the air by the stepping of feet. I look up and notice that my least favorite person as of now is standing right in front of us.
“Sorry about your friend, but I told Guerra about how you two have been treating me and he took all of the other troubles you’ve been causing into consideration and decided that being fair really wasn’t fair for him or me,” the rat guard
says with a giant smile on his face. The kind of smile that reminds me of the forced smiles we’d have to give for our school pictures each year.
“I hope this’ll keep you two in line. I’m not sure which one of you I’d pick to get rid of next, but hey, maybe I could just separate you two and keep one of you for myself. I’m sure I’d be a good husband-- treat you nice and good and make sure you get exactly what you want for Christmas.” His rambling is really starting to make my blood boil. Neither of us says anything and he gets the message. As he walks away he can’t help himself but to look back and chuckle.
“He’s... he’s just a... just a... cruel man,” Mara sputters. She’s attempted to stop crying, but all the effort has caused her to look like she’s just in a massive amount of pain. I grab her arm and pull her back into a normal sitting position.
She wipes away the last few lingering tears and pulls herself up. You’ve got to give this girl some credit. She’s being pretty damn strong.
As I wipe the dirt off my backside as we both stand up, I look around at this dismal place we’ve been living in for the last month, or however long it’s been. There’s hardly any color in sight, other than the lingering remains of the clothing we’ve all been wearing.
It really is incredible that we can even survive here. I suppose it’s just part of our incredible determination that is human nature. We’ve got to give it to ourselves as a whole; it can be pretty tough to get rid of us. We’re just damn stubborn.
But I guess it’s more just nature as a whole; the world is a hard thing to destroy, unless you want to get rid of it all at once. Perseverance and strength are two things that create obstacles for the nihilists trying to write an end to this novel. I guess it’s really something to be proud of. We’re all intertwined and connected by nature, and in that sense, we’re all quite similar.
The blood that runs through our veins is so similar to the sunlight that keeps plants alive and well. The roots and seeds that spring from a tree are similar to our family and youth. .
Sure, we have the abilities to create and destroy, but we aren’t gods. That is one thing that I know for sure. We hold the power to do great things, but most never choose to follow that path; the path that gives you less and the world more. Most are not holy, most do not think of the common good. We are an incredible race of-- if anything-- hypocrites. We try and make ourselves think we’re great people, but there’s always more that we could be doing.
I remember a teacher that I had back in high school, Mr. Burns. He was incredibly gifted with his subject of teaching and he always helped his students when they needed it, yet when he was asked to go out of his way and help children in South Africa, he refused. He said it was too much of a hassle and that it would cost too much. Is money honestly more important that human life?
If the answer has become yes, then I fear that the world may in fact be doomed. One thing that can never be valued less than money is life. Life is a onetime thing; a thing that is so extraordinarily rare and so incredibly powerful that we cannot take it for granted. And yet we do. And throughout the course of human history, I bet we will continue to take life for granted.
We truly are the something that occupies the infinite pool of nothing, which is really quite wondrous. I hope maybe in the future, after such a cataclysmic event has taken place, we’ll be able to smile and really look at how awesome this world is and finally let it be as breathtaking as it really is.
As Mara and I get our food from the cranky looking old man of a lunch lady, we were both consumed by our thoughts; mine being by the whole philosophy of being and Mara’s most likely being the loss of her closest friend. The cold feel of old plastic on my fingers was always a nice reminder that I’d soon be eating. It certainly wasn’t a dinner fit for a king or even a peasant really, but at least it was more than nothing. Hey, and it was homemade which was a lot better than when I was left to wander and hide for five years, surviving mostly by finding canned fruits and vegetables.
I cringe at the thought of eating uncooked green beans; they truly are horrible vegetables cooked. But man, I will never be able to look at a green bean without gagging for the rest of my life, after having endured three days of watery, disgusting, gnarled, old green beans.
I also recall a time where I stumbled upon a garden, a garden so extravagant that as I looked upon it in awe it took my breath away. Whoever had lived there was a god in the terms of gardening. Ten entire acres of land completely dedicated to the growing of delicious and exotic fruits and vegetables.
It was so plentiful that I thought for a moment I had died and stumbled into the Garden of Eden. I can remember the grape vines that towered up the numerous arbors, intertwining with a Clematis plant whose flowers were an elegant shade of purple. The tomato plants that bulged into each other held the plumpest, ripest red tomatoes that I had ever seen.
Sparsely through the garden there stood incredible fruit trees-- oranges, apples, pears, peaches, plums, limes, lemons; a completely incredible array to behold. I can even remember as I stood there, staring at this spectacle, completely dumbstruck, I thought to myself, there’s no way this could’ve lasted two years after the end of the world. There must be other survivors.
Maybe that’ll be what we do once we get out of here. Maybe we’ll be able to live off the land, harvest all we need to survive with our own hands. I still wonder to this day what had happened to the people/person who had been the caretakers of such a place. I have little doubt in my mind they had died shortly before I had gotten there, due to the fact that I searched the grounds and the house that stood in front of it and there was not a soul in sight.
And I do hope that that was the truth, because unfortunately for them if they were still alive, I probably ate and carried with me nearly half of that garden.
My thoughts turn back to reality and as I pick at my meal, I notice that the tan speckled goop that appears to be the main dish of this meal seems to have a life of its own. Whenever I stop eating and sit still, it continues to giggle as if I was prodding it with my fork. I’m considering asking for a less living pile of goop from the cranky lunch man, but I decide against it.
Mara is just sitting there, prodding a biscuit with her knife. Strangely enough she doesn’t look all that sad anymore, if anything, her mood gives off a sort of disappointed tone. She looks like she’s just failed an important test or just dropped her wallet into a sewer. She doesn’t look like she’s mourning the loss of her best friend.
She stops her incessant prodding and looks up at me. There are no tears in her eyes, seemingly no grief in her heart. She gives the impression that she’s going to come clean about something, but she says nothing.
The bell to end our breakfast chimes and we all return our trays and get into a line. There is hardly a sound as we stand next to one another, hardly even a breath. A guard takes us through one of the side exits into another courtyard and we notice there are men inside.
The sight of them surprises us all and some of us can hardly stand. I honestly had forgotten about the other gender completely, forgot about all of the comforts and pains that came with them. The thought of my almost first kiss with Jeremy Krueg comes to mind and I can’t help but find myself smiling.
From the men’s side of the courtyard we probably look like a bunch of crazy people, incapable of holding ourselves together; what a laugh they’re probably having.
It looks like the men are also doing a sorting task of some type, but their task seems to be involving scrap metal. They all look exhausted and filthy and I find myself wondering when it is they had to wake up this morning.
They sit us all down on the ground and instruct us to form a sort of assembly line-- one girl sorts the fruit, one girl takes the fruit over to the bins, and one girl puts the fruits in the bins. Mara and I are both ordered to be one of the girls to transport the fruits to the bins.
As we both shuffle to take our loads of fruit to the bins, I can’t help but notice that
Mara looks nowhere except for inside her bin. The look on her face is distant and makes me feel a bit concerned about my friend.
Hours slide by with no delay. But as it nears lunch hour, I’m nearly two trips ahead of her when I see her trip. The sound of the wooden box breaking underneath her is enough to make me place my box on the ground and hurry to her.
She picks herself up, but she doesn’t do a thing. She just stares down at her box, completely oblivious that everyone in the courtyard is watching her, including the men.
An uncomfortable silence fills the courtyard, even after everyone’s returned to their posts. I can almost breathe in the awkwardness.
I put my hand on her arm-- still no sign of life under that red hair. I begin to pick up the box she had dropped when she finally stirs.
“I can’t believe this Aidan. I truly can’t believe this. I always promised her I’d never leave her and now she’s gone forever.” Two minute tears slide down her cheek and her eyes turn red.
That stone-faced visage she had been wearing early is completely absent now. She looks like a child who lost her mom at the grocery store, completely lost and afraid.
I drop the box back down to the ground and I wrap my arms around her, trying to give her a little comfort in a place that grants none. She returns the hug and I can tell it helped a little.
And yet again, the one person who really doesn’t need to interfere does. You could probably hear him a mile away, but he still yells. I look at him from across the courtyard, standing there looking like he’s oh so mighty.
“Stop this hug fest and GET BACK TO WORK,” the rat-guard barks.
We separate from each other and I lean over to pick up the box again, just trying to help her out a little.
Mr. Rat Guard stomps his way over to us and pushes Mara down to the ground without warning. He looks a little angry, like someone had just made fun of him and now he had to prove his worth.
As Mara tumbles to the ground I hold out my arms, trying to rescue her from her dirty fate, and our favorite guard turns to me and grabs me by the wrist.
My skin stings as he yanks me upwards away from Mara, whose butt has met the ground. He then yanks me to the side, which topples me over down onto my knees. He even goes as far to start twisting the fragile skin of my wrist, which forces a cry of pain out of my mouth.
He finally releases my wrist, folds his arms behind his back, and begins to walk away. Yet again we’ve been made an example for the whole camp to see. I rub the raw skin he abused and I stand back up, unwilling to put up with this man’s mistreatment any longer.
He slowly turns around when he hears me bring myself to my feet. I wipe the dirt off of my pants and look up at him. I purposefully make eye contact. I want him to know I’m not afraid of him. I’m not just a faithful monkey like the rest of the inmates here.
“Not everyone here is so easily broken by your malicious acts,” I say.
All eyes turn to us. We all know this could turn ugly real fast.
“You just can’t put up with me makin’ an example outta you, can ya?” A smug grin spreads across his lips.
He saunters over to me in an arrogant sort of way-- his back straight and that grin plastered onto his face.
“Your lack of concern for you and your friend obviously shows you’re not right in the head, missy.” He positions himself about five inches away from my face; he’s really trying to be intimidating, but it’s really not working. He taps his finger on my forehead and the anger in my body is tough to contain.
“I’m just fine, sir. You can go on your merry way,” I snarl at him. I just want to wrap my hands around that neck of his and show him who’s boss.
He lowers his eyebrows, creating a substantial crease in his forehead. He really doesn’t know what to do with me. He studies my face and places his pointer finger on my forehead again. This time he isn’t as quick to remove it.
With every word he says, he prods my skull, and every poke makes the control over my anger waver more and more.
“Girly, you best step back now and make yourself shut up. If ye don’t I’ll be sure to make you regret every single word you said to me. Now get back to work, or I’ll make it so you can’t even carry a needle without yer back aching.”
I keep my ground, looking him in the eye without wavering even an inch. The whole courtyard has turned its eyes to me and Mr. Rat Guard. Dirt from the ground stirs up as the wind passes through. That’s the only sound that can be heard.
My body tenses as he raises his hand, I’m sure he’s going to hit me, but I will not let him win. He deserves no satisfaction from harming anyone, and he’ll get none from me.
As he brings his hand down to strike me across the face, I do something completely out of reflex. I move my hand up with sudden speed and stop him from slapping me.
I hear a couple of muffled gasps from some of the girls and all of the men are completely taken aback. A couple of them look as though their eyes could just pop on out of their eye sockets. The shocked look on Rat Guard’s face is completely priceless; it’s a look that someone would wear if they had just gotten de-pantsed in front a huge crowd.
His mouth is agape, his eyes wide, and I can tell he has no idea what he should do. His suave, fearless killer visage is gone.
But quickly, too quick for me to react, his face turns to liquid rage and he grabs my arms and pulls me within mere centimeters of his face.
“If I am to keep order in this prison, you must take your punishment,” he whispers loudly. “You think standing up to me will save your skin? It will only bring you closer to the end of your pitiful existence.” He practically spits those last couple of words into my eyes. His eyes are hot with frustrated tears. He lets one of my arms go and wipes the tears forming in his eye ducts, being sure to hide it from all of the captivated inmates.
He throws me to the ground, still grasping his arm and walks away, pouting like a seven-year-old girl.
“Eat your lunch!” yells another guard, and with that everyone breaks from their lines and heads back through the halls back to the other courtyard. For some reason even the men seem to be headed the same place we are. Most of them look quite pleased to be in the presence of their female counterparts.
As I pull myself off the dusty ground and wipe the dirt off of my behind, I look at Mara. Her eyes are transfixed, her mouth clenched open in complete astonishment, and body is as tense as a statue. It looks as though she has seen a ghost.
Concern passes through me, and I wonder if I should even turn around. Perhaps she’s hallucinating or delusional.
Mara looks to me, seeing the worry that has strained lines into my face and smiles at me. I wonder if she has just witnessed Jesus’s second coming or something.
“Aidan, I’d like you to meet someone very close to me,” she says with a smile. She yanks my arm with a force capable of dislodging my shoulder, so that I am facing the person she’s so happy to see.
Right in front of my eyes I see a man who has been etched into my mind many times by Mara. It is her friend Devlin.
They sure as hell were right to describe him as being masculine. The thick beard on his face proves that there’s a good amount of testosterone running through his blood and the scars etched into his skin show he’s seen his fair share of combat. His dark brown eyes are probing, yet strangely comforting. He looks like he’d either be a useful ally or a very powerful enemy.
He’s tall, but certainly not lanky. He’s still got some major muscle, even though this prison gives us no time for exercise unless they give us work to do.
He looks down at me and studies my face. I’m not sure if I should say something or if he’s going to say anything, but then I remember his bad eye. That must be why he was only looking at me with one eye and then I suddenly feel a bit embarrassed.
It obviously shows on my face and he laughs. His laugh is booming and deep. He sounds genuinely amused by my blushing cheeks.
“Hel
lo girlie, I’m Devlin,” he says with a smirk. And that smirk is not be confused with an evil rat-guard smirk; his smirk is welcomed and shows he’s not too serious to get upset over a misunderstanding or two. His voice is rough and strangely pleasing to the ear. His accent sounds Irish or Scottish or something like that. Hopefully I can get more details on that later.
He reaches out his hand to shake and I grasp his hand with my own. It feels strange to be touching someone. It gives me goose bumps, and I wonder if he notices. As we come to the end of our shake, I realize I should probably be introducing myself. I really need to work on being less awkward.
“Hi. I’m Aidan,” I say softly. I avert my gaze to the ground and wonder if there’s something else I should be saying right now. I feel more socially awkward than ever.
“Well it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you, but I need to speak with Mara if she’s up for it,” he looks over to Mara who is staring back at him. As they walk away, I wonder if I should go to lunch or wait for them.
They look happy to see each other, but behind Mara’s happy façade there’s still that terrible amount of hurt for her lost friend. I wonder if maybe they had or maybe even have a “thing”. Devlin looks quite pleased to be near her.
He notices me watching them and gives me the eye. I decide that the best choice is to leave unannounced. It’ll make me look better by, you know, giving them space and all that jazz.
As I head through the back halls, which are caked with some strange grayish, gooey, slime with a thin layer of dirt on top, I can’t help but wonder what exactly they would need to be talking about that I couldn’t hear. I’m helping them break out of this prison for gosh sake! It’s not like I’d go and blab their plan or whatever to the head guards, but hey, at least they’re taking me with them.
But as soon as I say that in my head, paranoia breaks loose and I really start getting unnecessarily worried.
What if they’re talking about getting rid of me? What if they think I turned in Taylor or something? What if they were using me this whole time? These questions and many more run through my head, igniting the time bomb that is my anxiety. I nearly walk into a support beam as I near the exit of this stingy little corridor.
The dust off of the ground kicks up as everyone treks toward the food line. I can’t help but cough and swat the dust away, searching for some clean air to circulate into my lungs.
Man, if I never get the chance to see and feel grass again in my lifetime, I‘d rather they just kill me now. It seems like a waste to have to just sit in here and be the government’s slaves for so long; I’d truly prefer the whole death sentence, hard labor really isn’t my thing. The thought of working brings my focus back to the whole thing that just happened and Mara and Devlin’s reuniting.
I catch myself in the act of near-hyperventilation and try to calm down. Let’s remember two things. One: there’s no proof that they are abandoning me due to anything I’ve done, and two: No one technically knows if this little government of ours is really going to stay in power all that long, maybe the UK or Africa or Australia will intervene and help us out or something else as magical sounding as that. Or maybe the unicorns will come out of hiding and liberate us; this may be just as likely.
As my spot in the lunch line grows nearer to the food and all of its splendors, I realize I’m starving. I then decide that it would be best for me to stop thinking in general at this point and that it is time to let my stomach consume my thoughts. (No pun intended). I’m really starting to think that once I get out of this hell-hole, I should probably seek medical attention. I really need to get something to slow my brain down. This truly can’t be all that healthy.
I take a deep breath.
The cold plastic of the lunch tray causes my warm fingers to tingle once I’m finally standing at the start of the food line. I can hardly wait to eat what could be my last meal here. I trace the indent made for your main dish with my finger and start to scoot across the lunch line.
At my first stop in the line, I get some sort of green bean mixture that sends a horrid shiver up my spine. Perhaps this is a message from the vegetable gods, asking for my approval of the green vegetable, but I doubt that. It’s probably just all the government could scrounge up for their lowly little laborers.
Round two looks a bit more appetizing, some sort of meat covered in some sort of reddish-orange colored sauce. The steam that is rising from it proves it’ll help give some warmth to my chilled body. The sauce looks like it may contain sesame seeds, but that could just be the remnants from the last time we had a near-Chinese sort of meal. I’ve been told that the kitchen folk don’t always clean out the dishes as often as they’re told.
And then finally I get to the magical stop, dessert. It’s some sort of marshmallow fluff and it looks like a delicious concoction that my grandma used to make back when she was still kicking. A poignant little pang rings through my heart and I wonder if my appetite will stay or if I’ll go into one of my little swings of depression.
Whenever I get depressed, I can’t help but not eat. Eating has always been one of the few things that have always caused my heart (and stomach) to be filled with joy. You just can’t ruin eating by being in a bad mood; it’s against the rules.
I pull up to the last stop in the food line and grab a dry little biscuit. The one I happen to pick out looks quite deflated and a little bit misshapen-- somewhat similar to the shape of my heart right now.
A trash can is looming in front of me as I turn away; I wonder if I should just toss away my food now. I decide against the depression and head over to the table that Mara, Taylor, and I had been sitting at for the weeks we’ve been friends.
Being scrutinized for sitting alone at a lunch table, or anywhere for that matter, has never been a problem for me and I realize now that while I eat, I am quite capable of organizing my thoughts and ideas that I would not be able to analyze if it weren’t for my current state of shoving food down my gullet.
Some work out to think, some do crafts, some even read or shower, but eating will always be my go-to for the organizing of my brain waves.
I scrape the watery, disgusting globs of green, better known as the scourges of the earth (green beans), off of my tray and onto the dusty ground. A couple of them land on top of each other and roll away into oblivion, while some just lay there, seemingly writhing in pain. They deserve it. Actually, I take that back. They deserve a fate far worse, due to the incredible amount of pain they’ve caused on the youth of the world and even to the adults that hold grudges, such as myself.
As I watch the green beans squirm in misery I notice Devlin and Mara walk into the courtyard. They both look quite pleased, like they were both just given the news they’d won the lottery, or something of that nature. Mara’s red hair is blowing wildly in the wind, making her look like Ariel from The Little Mermaid after she’d just sung a joyful tune. I wonder what they’re so happy about.
I start nibbling on the reddish-orange meat, which has nearly quit steaming. Perhaps I should’ve gorged on it the moment I sat down; it certainly would’ve given a nice little boost of heat from the inside. It tastes a bit tangy as it reaches my tongue, but I soon discover it is more salty than tangy.
Across the courtyard, Mara and Devlin are almost through the food line and my eyes follow them until they are free of its grasp. Devlin seems to have loaded half of the food from the line on his tray, while Mara seems to have a speck or two somewhere on her tray.
Mara turns her eyes to the tables and spots me immediately, giving me a warm smile and without warning that paranoid little feeling in the pit of my stomach vanishes.
Once they reach the table, they place their trays down across from me and move to sit down when they both realize they’ve both forgotten their eating utensils. Devlin, being the gentleman that he is, heads back to the line to retrieve them.
Mara looks down at my tray, eyeing the absence of my green beans. “I thought you loved green beans, Aid
an,” she says sarcastically.
“Haha. They’re currently writhing on the dusty ground in pain-- where they belong,” I respond.
We both chuckle and as I place my fork down, I look up and notice Mara’s gaze is currently rested upon my face.
“What? Do I have green bean on my face or something?”
She smiles one of her truly bright smiles. “No, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have found you. I’ve lost Taylor, and mind you, I never thought I would. But I also never thought I’d meet someone like you. I’m very thankful.” She pauses, looking down in a somewhat embarrassed fashion.
I smile, allowing for her to erase all doubt that I may dislike her or not value her friendship or something blasphemous like that. “To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be getting out, nonetheless with friends,” I say with a little laugh at the end.
Devlin returns, holding two forks and two spoons. He gives Mara hers and takes a seat next to her. As he scoots in, I can’t help but notice his fake eye, which has sort of turned out the other direction. If I didn’t know about his eye, I’d think he was a little loony.
They both begin focusing on their plates and I continue on with my tangy yet salty meat, devouring every morsel in sight. It may be prison-made, but it’s pretty damn good.
We all eat our lunches in peace and speak very little. I wish Devlin would start talking or telling a story so I could figure out what kind of accent he has, but I doubt I’d really be able to tell even if he started talking. I’m not all that good distinguishing between European accents.
Mara keeps glancing over at Devlin as if she were waiting for him to tell her something. She does not smile. Her brow creases and makes her look quite concerned. The sunlight bounces off of her pale creamy skin and creates a glare in the middle of my vision; I decide to just look down at my food for the time being. Perhaps now is not the time for me to be concerned about them.
The familiar sound of the lunch bell fills the air and we all scurry to put our trays back, Mara close behind me, but Devlin is nowhere to be found.
As we return our trays and begin our trek back to the courtyard where we were doing our sorting, I notice Mara lagging behind me.
Her eyes scan through the courtyard with a worried desperation about them.
“Mara, we’ve got to get back. Where’s Devlin gone anyways?”
She looks back at me and she wipes the hair from her face. She doesn’t look like she really knows what to say. She turns back toward the courtyard and spots him.
He gallivants towards us, looking as though there are no worries in the world. Mara’s face shows otherwise.
Once he reaches us, he hands Mara a small something wrapped in paper. Her eyes scan it and she puts it in the front pocket of her jeans.
Devlin gives her a rough smile and says, “Mara, everything will go according to plan, you needn’t worry about this, love.” He looks at her with a good amount of concern carved into his face. His dark brown eyes look at her comfortingly and she gives out a deep sigh.
“I know. It’s just my nature to be worried about everything,” she says with a slight smirk at the end. You can tell she’s trying to make light of the situation, but it is quite evident that she doesn’t have as much faith as Devlin in this plan.
Mara grabs onto my arm and pulls me through the hallway to the other courtyard. I wonder what’s gotten into her. Bad memories, perhaps? Or maybe she’s just got a little edge of paranoia cutting into her at all times like myself.
“Mara, what’s going on? You know you can tell me,” I force out as she continues to pull me along the hallway. I try to stop her, but she won’t have it. She’s putting a lot of effort in practically dragging me, and it’s quite clear she’s becoming a bit strained. After a couple more grapples at the wall to hold onto, I finally bring her to a halt.
“Aidan, I fell in love with Devlin when I was twenty years old. I thought I had finally figured everything out in my life. We were together for five years and then the end happened. We were separated, and I thought he was dead,” she says. She takes in a deep breath and continues her story.
“I met and joined the “group” and that’s where I’ve been since. I’d been living the past four years of my life in deep depression, mourning over him. And then suddenly Kael, one of the leaders of our “group”, came up to me and told me that he had found Devlin. I offered myself up to go in and get him out. Taylor said she’d come too.” Mara’s eyes turn red, and I can tell this is a very sensitive subject.
“Once I finally saw him, I could hardly contain myself. My life was finally turning around.” She shakes her head and a tear falls onto her cheek. “And now I’ve lost Taylor and been given Devlin back. I feel so cruel. Taylor had kept me alive through the hardest part of my life, and if it weren’t for me she’d be alive and well. Neither of us would’ve ever been in this damned prison.”
She starts to cry and leans up against the wall. I wrap my arms around her and try to do what I can to make her feel better. Fortunately we were at the front of the line to return our trays, so we aren’t late back to work yet. I try to think fast on what I should do to calm this situation down a bit.
“Mara, perhaps Taylor isn’t actually dead. Maybe the guard made the whole thing up to dig into your skin, to make sure you gave up,” I say.
“But what if she really is? I’ll never be able to live with myself Aidan. She’s my best friend.” Her blue eyes are brighter than usual, due to the redness caused by crying. She looks like a lost puppy.
“Mara, Taylor wouldn’t want you to just give up if she died. She’d want you to get out and do what needs to be done,” I chime in. “If you were her best friend, she’d want you to save your skin if she died. She wouldn’t want the whole thing to be in vain. She knew there was a risk when she went with you; she knew there could be consequences.”
Mara nods a bit, realizing what I’ve said is actually true. I think somehow this pep talk of mine has actually helped for once.
I lessen my grip around her and give her some room to breathe. She’s looking down at the floor, obviously a bit embarrassed from her outburst of emotion. Once she gains the courage to look up at me, I give her a warm smile in return.
She returns the favor with an equally warm smile of her own and hugs me. “Aidan, I never thought I’d leave with someone new and I am so glad we’ve met, you will be an incredible addition to the group,” she professes.
She links arms with me and we walk out of the dingy hallway with a newly established feeling of acceptance.
The sorting of fruits takes up our afternoon like dust into a vacuum. There’s little to be said as we all scurry around carrying boxes of fruit and running back to get our next box.
Nothing all that important happens really, just a couple tumbles here and there. None of those said falls were even noticed by the guards, let alone criticized for. There’s one girl who seems to be completely unaware of her surroundings, so she ends up falling four or five times after stepping into a small hole. It is safe to say she’d be called a bimbo if we were all in high school together.
The dust from the dry earth is continually kicked up, and I notice a couple of girls struggling to get the dust from their eyes. It’s like everything that comes from the earth is poisonous now. As I look around, I notice everyone’s eyes are a bit redder than usual. Perhaps the dust actually is poisonous.
In lieu of such discoveries, I find myself keeping my eyes mostly shut for the following hours. You’re better safe than sorry.
Carry, set down. Carry, set down. The common pattern gets plastered into my mind, and once they finally ring the bell for dinner I can hardly stop myself from picking up my tray and setting it by the girl who was sorting the fruit. I think I twitch a bit, fighting the urge. A couple girls stare, I feel no shame.
We take our seats at our meal table, for what will hopefully be the very last time. Devlin is talking to some of his big buddies in the line and Mara is
carefully digging into the creamy mashed potato-and-Salisbury steak concoction they’ve given us for dinner.
Fortunately, there’s no need to pry any devil vegetables off of my tray, and I pick at my assorted carrots, peas, and whatnot. Mara doesn’t seem as moody, but is still a bit distant. I’m guessing she’ll most likely be like that until we’re out of here.
I do question myself on whether or not I should’ve brought up the possibility of Taylor still living. I’ve been told that living with false hope is much worse than just living with acceptance. But you never know, perhaps Taylor really is still living and we’re just going to run out of here without her like it’s nobody’s business.
I wonder if maybe we could ask the one guard who seems to be in on our escapades. It may be quite possible to put this mystery to an end with some help from him.
As I sit there, wondering how and when this whole plan will go down, I hear a loud popping noise and then the loudest explosion I may, in fact, ever hear in my lifetime. As an enormous cloud of smoke billows up into the air, Mara and I rush to get under the table, shielding us from the blazing inferno overhead.
Mara seems to be having a bit of a mental breakdown and the tremors that are coursing through her body show it to be quite evident. Devlin rushes over to us, wrapping his arms around Mara in an attempt to calm her down.
As Devlin cradles Mara in his all-encompassing arms, I see the guard that handed me the note. He seems to be scanning the yard, most likely looking for us. I’d bet he was in on this whole plan.
His gaze finally falls upon us and he rushes over to us, short of breath and from the sounds of it, short of time.
“We’ve got to hurry now, come with me. Quickly!”
Devlin staggers up onto his feet, still with Mara in his arms; the guard helps me up and turns away-- hopefully leading us to freedom.