The Earth Dwellers

He shrugs as if it’s the kind of thing he does every day. “Sure. So there’s nothing I can do to change your mind about going?” The smile that accompanies his words generates a burst of heat on my cheeks. I certainly wouldn’t mind looking at his face a little while longer, but I’ve already delayed this too long and I’m afraid if I don’t take the first step now, I never will.

“This is something I have to do,” I say, trying to make my voice as deep and bold-sounding as I can.

He nods, like he already guessed my response. “Be careful, Tawni. If I’m lucky we’ll meet again.”

“I hope we do,” I say, wishing I could drag the moment out a little longer. I’ve never liked goodbyes, even ones from people I don’t know very well—or in this case, at all. But I manage to square my shoulders, face the train station, and find a tiny splinter of courage somewhere in my bones. I’m doing this to atone for the sins of my parents. If I can find Adele Rose, I’ll tell her the truth about what they did to her family, and I’ll do everything in my power to make things right.

My legs are suddenly like lead, but even that can’t stop me. I lift one foot and force it forward, following it with the other foot. With each step I feel lighter, as if bits and pieces of a heavy burden are crumbling down from my shoulders. I feel alive.

I slink into a stream of adults making their way to the train station. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I avoid looking at them for fear that “Alert! Delinquent!” might be written all over my face. But no one seems interested in me. They all have their own problems, which they face by trudging to the train every day, zombie-like expressions on their blank faces, hoping that they’ll earn enough today to feed their families. Yeah, they’ve got bigger concerns than a sixteen-year-old girl who should be getting ready for school.

And then I’m inside the train station, so quickly that it almost feels like I blinked out of existence and back into it, not even passing through the arched entrance. I nearly forget to prepare my ticket and travel pass until I notice a woman who’s scrambling for hers. Swinging my pack around, I locate the ticket and forged intra-Realm travel authorization card under a sachet of rice.

The automated turnstiles loom ahead, spi

There are only five people in front of me, no more than ten seconds. The moment of truth. Will there be flashing lights and blaring alarms? Or will the green light blink, beckoning me through to a new life?

Four people. No wait, three people—two passed through while I was worrying.

Green light. Two people.

I realize I’m sweating profusely from my forehead. Make that my armpits. And kneepits, if there is such a thing. Everywhere, really. I’m a sweaty mess.

Green light. One person—the woman who was as unprepared as I, who now has her ticket ready, just like me.

My heart’s pounding, both in my chest and my head. My knees feel rubbery, as if my bones have melted under me, congealing into a moldable substance that wobbles and totters like a two-year-old who still can’t walk properly.

Green light. The woman passes through the turnstiles and for a moment the metal rungs look like scythes, cutting her to ribbons, severing her limbs like scissors against the arms of paper cutout dolls. I blink away the thought.

My turn.

I just stare at the ticket sca

“Move it,” a gruff voice says from behind me.

If I don’t hurry I’m going to draw a lot more attention to myself than I want. Ticket first, I remember. I scan my ticket, which I already know is valid. A dull beep sounds and a robotic voice says, “Please scan your travel authorization now.”

I’m dead. I know it. I should just turn and leave now, before it’s too late. Forget the strange and a

“Hurry up, kid!” A different voice this time, angrier than the first, and identifying me as a “kid,” which is exactly the sort of tag I don’t want. The instinct to run grows stronger and I start to turn, but then something pops into my head that stops me.

A face from the news. I watched it with my parents on the telebox, knowing full well it was them that had created this news story. The face of a young girl—my age. Adele Rose. Black, obsidian hair. Pale skin, like mine. Fierce, emerald-green eyes. Full lips. Pretty. A look on her face that could only be described as ugly. It was a face that told a tale of betrayal, of having her parents sold to the world as traitors, of being ripped from her family and sent to the Pen until she turns eighteen, and then to an adult prison, the Max, until the day she dies. All because of the actions of my parents. Not me—my parents. And yet I feel responsible.

The memory of her face stops me. Only I can turn her expression pretty again.

I turn and scan my fake travel pass, ready to be arrested if that is my fate.

The light turns green.

I can’t help the smile that lights up my face as I stride forward, placing my hands on the push bar, which is cold and hard, but with rounded edges, not like the razor-sharp blade of a scythe at all. I did it—I’m leaving the subchapter at long last! I’m so full of elation that I literally feel bubbles of air rising in my chest, lifting my posture higher, buoying my spirits. I start to push the bar forward.

“Wait just a minute, kid!” I hear from behind.

When I turn I see red: a uniform, clean and bright; an Enforcer, his Taser raised, aimed directly at my chest; his face, a duplicate of the man I saw smoking a cigarette on a moon dweller stoop earlier this very morning.

“I told you I’d catch you,” he snarls, pressing a button on his Taser.

Just before the snake of electricity pulls me into unconsciousness, I think, I’m coming, Cole.

~THE END~

The Life Lottery

A Story from Year Zero

Originally posted in Furthermore: an Anthology.

Today is The Lottery. It’s been the only thing anyone’s talked about for the last week.

My mom said it would never happen, that the government would come to their senses, come up with a new plan. My dad said the whole world’s gone crazy. Now that the day is here, it looks like my dad was right.

The guy on the news says that the countries aren’t speaking to each other anymore, that it’s every country for itself. That just seems sad to me. I once had a pen pal named Sophia from France. I worry about her. I wonder if France has a Lottery too.

The Lottery in the U.S. is “a bag of baloney,” my dad says. By that I think he just means it’s not a good system. I pretty much agree with him, because I don’t want to be split up with my family. The way it works is that every person of every age has the same chance of getting picked. The government says that’s the only way it can be equal, because if they did it by family, the smaller families would have an equal chance of being selected as a larger family, and it might mess up the number of people who are allowed to go underground. Only three million can fit in the caves, they say. No exceptions! I can still see the President’s finger pointing at the camera, as if he’s yelling at me personally.