I’ve never seen a meadow, but my mother used to tell me stories. I imagine they used to be large and green, and I like to think they smelled of anything and everything fresh. Everything is city now. The buildings are tall and gray and only inches apart. In front of the buildings is sidewalk that has so much gum on it, you could almost use it to fill in the numerous cracks sprawled along the concrete. In front of the sidewalks is street, and behind the buildings are more buildings. The closest thing I’ve seen to a garden in the last fifteen years was when I went to Russia for a meeting with the director of Compound 3. There was a small grassy area inches away from his office. Inside the garden was a beautiful white flower, I think he called it honeysuckle. It was beautiful. It smelled fresh and sweet, such a huge contrast from all the smog and metal I am constantly surrounded by. To this day, I crave to smell that scent just one more time. But there are things I crave more. The streets get quiet as I walk through them. Not at first though, at first it seems as though I am just like anyone else, a mundane bystander of daily life. But then, then they see the oddities in the way I dress, the way that I clothe myself in long pants and a sweatshirt in the middle of July, the white cloth covering my hands and neck and the small amounts of skin showing between my pants and socks. Only then do the bustling streets that were previously loud and fast suddenly become slightly less so. People try not to let me notice the subtle change in their behavior, but I do. They grab the hands of their children rather than letting them run free, they glance over their shoulders and avoid eye contact and bundle into groups; no one dares stand alone. They fear me, and they should. The plague started twelve years ago, when I was three years old. I don’t remember much, except the chaos. I remember that time in blurs of sobs and wails, of anger and resentment and strangled cries, and the I remember the silence. I remember the silence most of all. My brain wasn’t yet able to comprehend what had happened, but this I did know; one minute my mom was yelling and my dad was crying, and the next there was silence. Years later I was horrified with myself because as the silence crept over my home I remember being glad. I was glad that the yelling and the screaming had ceased and given way to a rare moment of silence.
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Chapter 1- I’ve never seen a meadow, but my mother used to tell me stories. I imagine they used to be large and green, and I like to think they smelled of anything and everything fresh. Everything is city now. The buildings are tall and gray and only inches apart. In front of the buildings is sidewalk that has so much gum on it, you could almost use it to fill in the numerous cracks sprawled along the concrete. In front of the sidewalks is street, and behind the buildings are more buildings. The closest thing I’ve seen to a garden in the last fifteen years was when I went to Russia for a meeting with the director of Compound 3. There was a small grassy area inches away from his office. Inside the garden was a beautiful white flower, I think he called it honeysuckle. It was beautiful. It smelled fresh and sweet, such a huge contrast from all the smog and metal I am constantly surrounded by. To this day, I crave to smell that scent just one more time. But there are things I crave more. The streets get quiet as I walk through them. Not at first though, at first it seems as though I am just like anyone else, a mundane bystander of daily life. But then, then they see the oddities in the way I dress, the way that I clothe myself in long pants and a sweatshirt in the middle of July, the white cloth covering my hands and neck and the small amounts of skin showing between my pants and socks. Only then do the bustling streets that were previously loud and fast suddenly become slightly less so. People try not to let me notice the subtle change in their behavior, but I do. They grab the hands of their children rather than letting them run free, they glance over their shoulders and avoid eye contact and bundle into groups; no one dares stand alone. They fear me, and they should. The plague started twelve years ago, when I was three years old. I don’t remember much, except the chaos. I remember that time in blurs of sobs and wails, of anger and resentment and strangled cries, and then I remember the silence. I remember the silence most of all. My brain wasn’t yet able to comprehend what had happened, but this I did know; one minute my mom was yelling and my dad was crying, and the next there was silence. Years later I was horrified with myself because as the silence crept over my home I remember being glad. I was glad that the yelling and the screaming had ceased and given way to a rare moment of silence. “For the love of- Eagan wake up!” Cleo rams her elbow into my ribcage and I awaken to the rather unpleasant sound of the breakfast alarm blaring from the back corner of our concrete box that some people have the audacity to label as a bedroom. “What the hell was that for?” it came out as more of a grumble that actual words, but that didn’t matter, because I knew exactly what she did it for. “Come on E, we are going to be late for breakfast, and you know how much Julian hates it when he has to eat alone.” “I know, I know, I’ll be right there, you go down without me.” I really want nothing more than to go back to bed. Why is the bed always most comfortable in the morning? “Oh no, not today, I’ve fallen for that one before. I’m waiting up here until you are completely ready.” She grabs me by the arm and drags me out of bed. I groan as I topple to the floor. I decide to stay in my night clothes instead of changing right now. We are already a couple minutes late and I really don’t want to cause a scene in the cafeteria. Cleo and I run down four flights of metal steps to get to the main floor. There is supposed to be an elevator “coming soon!” according to the sign on one of our billboards, but that sign has been there for two years and not once have I seen someone come in to start that process. The air in the main floor is uncomfortably warm, and I immediately regret my decision to continue wearing my fleece pajama bottoms. I race to the cereal bar to see if there is anything left for me to eat. Lo and behold, there is a glorious box of leftover fruit loops. I hate fruit loops. I sigh and settle for grabbing it anyways, knowing that I won’t eat it. And then, I hear a familiar voice that makes me want to run for cover. “Well lookie who decided to show up!” the overdramatic voice of one of my best friends, Julian, pours over me in a cloud of dread. “Julian, can we skip this today?” “Shhhh, I don’t want to hear your excuses again,” he’s projecting his voice so that the whole cafeteria is listening in. “If you don’t want to spend time with me, you could have just said so.” he begins sniffling dramatically as I roll my eyes back farther into my head than I would have thought imaginable. “Julian, just shut up” “No! I loved you!” He drops to his knees and starts shaking my arms. “I loved you, and you abandon me for...sleep?!” he yells out in agony, and everyone bursts into laughter. Julian stands up and takes a bow. He then takes one look at my bright red face and bursts into laughter himself, swinging one arm around me casually and walking me over to our table. “Honestly Julian, do you need to do that every time she’s late?” I appreciate the effort put forth by Cleo here, but I would think she could try harder to conceal the smirk on her face. Both of my so-called friends burst into laughter, and I simply shake my head until I cannot contain it anymore and let out a small giggle myself. These people are dead set on making my life miserable, and I love them for it. It lightens my spirits. “Any important stuff you guys have going on today, I was wondering if we all wanted to go down to see that new movie tonight?” Cleo knows that Julian is in, but looks at me hopefully. “I um...” “Not again!” Cleo throws her head back in frustration. “I’m sorry I really have to go to this thing. It starts in-” I pause to look at the clock “oh crap, thirty minutes. I’ll try to make it tonight, but no promises Cleo, remember that when you want to rip my head off for not showing.” I rush to the trash can to dispose of my unopened box of cereal and bolt out the door. As I am leaving I hear a loud voice saying; “Eagan Roane Shift! If you are late I swear to all of the Fruit Loops that I will never forgive you!” --- “As soon as I arrived at the compound, newly orphaned and scared out of my mind, Director Colson took me under his wing. I was traumatized. Contracting the same disease that killed both of your parents can do that to you. This disease, Podremia, could either kill you or ruin your life. I made friends and a life for myself. I learned to live with this disease that made me destroy whatever iI touched, but it wasn’t easy.” I paused and looked out to the sea of people standing before me. “Millions died and a select few survived. Those of us that lived were quarantined into compounds to keep the disease from spreading. |
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They fear me, and they should. " |