The Wounded

Whispering, “Oh Jesus,” I put my hand over my mouth and just stopped. I stopped breathing, stopped moving. I felt the gas drug cloud swirling around me. I heard Clara’s voice searching for me in the darkness. I felt Orry moving inside me, the hatred, the fear, and the crushing helplessness. I stood up and slowly moved towards the aisle, taking small gasps of air, but it was like the gas was everywhere. I didn’t dare breathe. When I got to the aisle, I ran, slipping on the carpet and clutching my stomach protecting the bump that was no longer there. I pulled myself up and it was like climbing a mountain, a shaking, rumbling mountain.

I could hear them behind me, but I ignored it. I couldn’t think. I slammed through the toilet doors and into a stall, making myself small and breathless like a soft stone. I tried to picture blackness, but those girls, those bodies, kept shoving me through the lines. Because there was nothing better and nothing worse than how I felt. I got out, I escaped, and with that came a flood of relief. But snagged in the raging water of that flood, were sharp stabs of guilt and grief.

I felt myself flying open and slamming shut like an errant window in a storm. I couldn’t reconcile myself.

I could hear the door open slowly, the air heavy and disturbed around two distinct bodies.

“I understand it more now, you know, why she is…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t understand how anyone could go through that and not be changed.”

Steps came closer.

“What do we do?”

“This isn’t a we thing. She needs you. Tell her I’m outside if she wants.”

The door closed and one pair of sneakers was left, peeking under the door of my stall.

*****

Relaxing my leg, I let it slide towards the gap under the door. I was exhausted and suddenly uncomfortable as the toilet smells wafted up my nose and I realized my hair was draped over the toilet seat.

A lightly freckled hand wrapped around my boot gently.

“Rosa. Are you ok?” His voice was soft and earnest, but I didn’t like the pity I thought I heard.

“Well… now you know why I’m so damaged,” I said quietly.

“I don’t think that,” Joseph said surely. I folded my arms across my chest, barricading my heart as he spoke. “I am amazed at you. You’re so strong. You survived all of that. I’m… I’m kinda humbled in your presence.” I could feel him smiling on the other side of the door, but I couldn’t quite believe him.

“I don’t feel strong,” I said, edging my way backwards. “I feel like nothing.”

“You’re not nothing.” He tightened his grip on my foot. “You’re everything,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, nothing,” I said resolutely. “How could I leave them there? I feel like I should have done something, done more.”

Joseph stood up and pushed the door open. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. I didn’t want to look at him. A warm finger slid under my chin and raised my face. His eyes opened me up like nothing else. There was fire in them, calm and heat at the same time.

“You couldn’t do anything, not then. But now you can. What do you think this is all about? We’re not watching this horror movie for fun. We are pla

I laughed a little. “You sound like him.”

“Sorry.” He smirked.

He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, kissing my forehead gently. I felt myself aching for more, but now was not the time.

“You coming?”

I nodded. “Yes, give me a minute.” He strode out, flipping back to me with a look of concern. I smiled weakly. “I won’t be long.”

I splashed some water on my face and took a deep breath. What could I do? How could I help when just the images of that place sent me spiraling and scrambling to wedge myself between the toilet bowl and the wall? I had to find some way to pull myself together.

It was fu

I walked out with a flimsy sense of purpose and straight into a mess.

The film was over, and the images had not formed into some great plan. They had burned and shriveled like over-exposed film. Everyone was arguing, but mostly they seemed at a loss. What good did this all do? How could we use this information to free the people and take down the Woodland government? It seemed too big.

Members of the group swiped their arms in the air angrily, like the whip of a blade. All these surveillance videos had done was upset everyone.

One man, tall and thin as a pipe, with a hollow-sounding voice like he was shouting through one, yelled, “What if we tu

Another man shook his head, his cheeks wobbling with the flurry of it. “They would just destroy the building with us in it. We have to remember who we’re dealing with. They place no value on human life. They won’t think twice about killing us all.”

Pietre, who had been sulking in the corner, yelled, “We should just blow them all to hell.”

To which some people cheered, but the majority of us found the idea deplorable.

The three leaders were standing now, looking down on us from the stage, trying hard to follow the spits and spatters of conversation and suggestions ranging from massive scaffolding, to getting large numbers of Survivors over the Wall, and to capturing soldiers and brainwashing them. We were getting nowhere, and the ridiculousness of the plans pointed clearly to how lost we were.

The female leader, all golden curls and pink cheeks, stomped her foot impatiently. Everyone stopped and turned their gaze upward. “We have the information. Stop and think. Take your time. What can we do with it? How can we use it to our advantage?”

Everyone sat down and took up various poses of introspection. I was agitated, my thoughts shaking around like a paint can in a color mixer. There was something nagging in the back of my mind. Brainwashing soldiers was impossible. They were too far gone. Convincing the citizens to take up the cause seemed impossible. They were too afraid and too protected. What would be the motivation for fighting? What meant something to them?

The quiet had quickly degraded into arguing again. I stood and left the group, feeling Joseph and Rash’s eyes on me. But I wasn’t ru

My thoughts trailed to when I was still living in Pau Brazil. Had I ever seen any semblance of emotion, of defiance? Twice. Once when the one-child policy was first introduced and a father argued against them taking his child, and the other was when Paulo’s brother hid his son from the authorities. Both ended in bloody confrontations...

It was about love and family.

Even though parents let their kids go to the Classes, there was still love and hope that their children were going on to a better life. It was what we were supposedly guaranteed. But I saw it in their faces the day I left, reluctance, doubts.

If they knew it was a lie.

If enough people knew what was really happening to their children… If they knew what had happened to me, to Careen, to Clara, it could be enough.