The Woodlands

When they got to Rash, they didn’t take much time. The woman raised one eyebrow as she stared down at my friend. I noticed she was wearing makeup, a rare luxury. It was caked in the corner of her eyes, balled up bits of black grit that made her blink too much. Rash shifted uneasily from foot to foot under her critical gaze, smiling inappropriately at her. I had a moment of panic, thinking he might be stupid enough to wink at her. I wanted to whack him and tell him no amount of charm was going to help him today. When they moved on, I heard him sigh in relief. It was my turn.

The woman lifted the lid to my jewelry box with her little finger. It glided open gently, elegantly. She inspected every compartment with a critical eye, checking the workmanship meticulously. She closed the lid and ran her hand over the emblem on the front, tracing each individual circle of timber with her finger. I wanted to talk, explain to her the differences in the timbers, the purpose of each compartment. I bit my lip, tasting blood. She turned to her colleague and she smiled. It didn’t look right on her shrewd face. But her teeth were showing through her thin lips caked in dried-up lipstick. Mister Gomez was looking very pleased as she nodded her head approvingly in his direction. She typed in her scores and moved on to Henri. I relaxed a little. Rash and the other boys were all gri

The judges both seemed quite pleased with Henri’s desk as well, nodding and whispering in a painful performance that only heightened the tension in the room. We wanted it be over. When they had completed their assessments, the judges walked to Mister Gomez, their gold-embellished shoulders glinting under the fluorescence, and turned to face the class. I looked down the line—eight young men with their futures hanging in the balance. They were all strong, good boys with sawdust in their hair and oil on their calloused fingers.

“You have all performed satisfactorily in this assessment,” she stated. “Your score will be prepared and provided to you tomorrow morning. Perez.” She motioned for him to step forward and then she placed a hammer in his hand.

I wish I had been prepared for this. I’m not sure whether it would have changed anything but maybe it would have. There could have been a chance. I could have had a chance.

Perez’s face looked devilish as he moved to the first table. Without ceremony, without hesitation, he smashed it. I watched each of my friends’ devastated faces as he moved from piece to piece, destroying their work. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. What was the point to this? I felt each blow like he was striking me. My arms held up in defense, my body vibrating with every crash of the hammer. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Three pieces into the destruction, I screamed.

“Stop!” Everyone stared at me. The boys were shaking their heads, pleading with their eyes for me not to continue. Henri whispered, “Soar, no,” but this was me—I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. “Please,” I begged, “you can’t do this.” I was shaking. Even as the words escaped my mouth, I knew it was futile.

Perez took three steps towards me and pounded me in the face with the flat side of the hammer. I flew sideways, knocking Henri’s desk over in the process. I felt teeth from my right jaw rattling in my mouth, which filled with the metallic taste of blood and threatened to drown me. The pain was immense as it spread from my jaw up and around my head, throbbing. The torn flesh of my face was searing hot, each nerve ending screaming. I couldn’t focus, vision blurred but not from tears. I stayed silent. Trying to breathe, trying really hard not to panic.

As I lay there on the floor clutching my broken face, I wondered why Mister Gomez hadn’t warned us. He had always been strict but never cruel. This was cruelty. Then it came to me, as bits of wood and lacquer rained down on me from above. Shards of my proud creation were landing in my hair and sticking to the growing pool of blood around where I was lying. There were two reasons. One, we probably wouldn’t have tried so hard if we knew. And two, this was part of the assessment. It was a test. And I had just failed with flying colors. In one swift move, I had ruined everything.

The noise of my beautiful jewelry box being shattered marked the end for me. I knew it, as well as everyone else in the room. Rash stepped forward, foolishly trying to diffuse the situation. “C’mon guys…” he said as he took a step towards me. The expression on his face showed me how bad I must have looked. The grey-haired woman stepped forward and touched a black device lightly to his chest. His body jolted u

Two men had appeared in the doorway, dressed in the black Guardian garb. They were directed to take me by the female judge, who was definitely not whispering anymore. Her harsh shouting reverberated in my swollen head. “Remove her immediately!” she barked at them, pinching the bridge of her nose like the whole thing had inconveniently given her a headache. They roughly hooked their arms under mine and pulled me to my feet. As they lugged me out the door like a sack of potatoes, I could see the boys helping Rash to his feet. I was thankful that for now, at least, he had escaped further punishment.

The Guardians were trying to make me walk. I tried but I felt dizzy and uncoordinated, like my legs were made of jelly. My shirt was soaked with blood and my eye was starting to close up. One of the men gave up and slung me into his arms. I had no strength to struggle. Besides, there was nowhere to run to.

The hall started to narrow before my eyes. I felt my body being hollowed out and filled with lead. Everything that I had tried to build was gone, forever. Any warmth I had in me was replaced with a cold dread, knowing that I would most likely be dead in a few hours. My vision was getting tighter and tighter, until all I could see was a spot of light dancing before my one good eye. I felt my body being dumped on a hard, cold surface. I exhaled, farewelling my life. Hope was gone. Death was imminent. I prayed it would be fast.

It felt like I had missed something, like there was a gap in my memory. I didn’t know how long I had been here and what they were asking of me. I knew that it was big. Something I was resisting. Things kept slipping and I needed to retrace my steps. I felt like it was essential I figured it out soon, before something bad happened.

There was an ominous cloud hanging over my head, pushing down on me, pushing me to look deeper. I curled around the emptiness and pulled a yellow quilt around my shaking shoulders. This was home, right? It looked like home, but there were small things that didn’t quite fit—like the small crack above my bed that I used to trace with my finger when I couldn’t sleep and the quilt made from scraps of fabric, sewn by my mother, the faded spot on the curtain where the sun hit in the afternoon. There was no sun here. It felt like we were underground. It was cold. My ears sought noise from the outside world but there were none. No birds, no wolves howling, no lawn mowers grumbling. All that was familiar to me was twisted or simply missing.