The Wanted

A guard sat on the couch, his legs spread wide. His attention was on a book rather than the screens. When he saw Denis, he shot up and saluted him.

“Master Grant,” he said, flustered. He looked from me to Denis in confusion, and then he chose to ignore me. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. Are you taller?”

Denis gave an easy laugh. “Probably, it’s been two years, Solomon.”

Solomon laughed with him, his dark, bald head catching the light as he dipped down, grabbed a remote, and blacked the screens.

“Yes. Not since Superior Grant brought you down here to scare you straight.” Solomon winked as he spoke. The wink too long, too familiar.

Denis swallowed uncomfortably and fiddled with his earphones. “Ah, yes… anyway. Similarly, Miss Rosa is in need of a wake-up call.”

I scowled at the guard; his jolly exterior was as u

“Doesn’t look so bad,” I lied, trying to appear blasé. “It’s nicer than my actual home!” It was nothing compared to my home. The home I would never return to.

Solomon snorted and I wondered whether you could fit a Ping-Pong ball up his nose, his nostrils were so large.

“Tickets, please.” Denis held them out, and Solomon sca

Please no!

“No thanks, Solomon, just open the doors, please,” Denis said, tipping his chin.

Solomon pulled a chain from around his neck and lifted a small, numbered pad that was dangling from it. He punched in a code, and the doors opened.

“Have fun!” he said, waving dorkily.

We stepped over the red line painted in front of the doors, and they closed quickly after us. As soon as they did, I felt squeezed, like someone’s hand was around my throat. We were sealed inside a corridor smelling strongly of chemicals that barely masked other horrid odors like sweat, urine, and things I didn’t want to think about. Denis put his sleeve to his nose and started placing his earphones in, then he glanced down at me, remembering I was there, and muttered, “Sorry.”

I breathed in deeply and repressed the urge to gag. This might be my home soon, if they let me live. I guessed I’d better try to get used to it.

The thick, metal doors, spaced every few meters, were plastered with giant barcode stickers. You could see the tears and leftover paper from previous inmates underneath the current barcode. When you were a prisoner, they took your name as well as your freedom.

We walked hesitantly down the aisle, and my eyes caught glimpses of the inmates through the wire-infused glass. Huddled in dark corners. Lying with their backs to the door, their knees pulled to their chests. They were shadows, thin and barely human.

My skin shuddered over my frame loosely, like it was trying to escape my body. This could be my life.

“There are no mics in here,” Denis said as he ran his hand along one of the doors and rubbed the microscopic dust between his fingertips. “I think they got sick of listening to all the screaming.”

I imagined the desperate pleading of shadow people scratching at their last shreds of humanity.

My dry mouth spat out a curse, making him flinch.

How many people did they keep down here? It went on for at least twenty doors on both sides but not all were filled.

A sharp bang made me jump.

“Git, git, git, me out of here!” A muffled voice came from my left. I walked closer and saw a raring face pressed up against the glass, his eyes bulging with need.

“Please, please, please…” he whispered softly like a song, like a prayer no one would answer. When I put my hand to the window, he suddenly head-butted it. “Devil bitch!” he screamed. I pulled back my hand like he might bite me through the glass or infect me with his insanity and shook my head in shame. Denis placed his hand at my waist and pushed me past the door. We increased our pace, the sad thump of his head hitting the glass continuing as we moved away.

Before I could ask, Denis answered. “Level Four is for those who have lost the ability to mentally cope with imprisonment.”

“You mean it’s for the ones who’ve gone crazy,” I snapped. I knew I would end up here after a few days of imprisonment.

He nodded. “Look, they’re still watching us, even if they can’t hear us. Dad instructed me to put you in cell seventeen.” We stopped in front of the door. It had no barcode on it and must have been empty. “Just for one hour he said, to give you a scare. I have to do it, Rosa, or he’ll suspect something is up.” His eyes looked less sympathetic and more uncomfortable.

I shrugged. What choice did I have?

Denis leaned in to punch the code Solomon had handed him.

“Does our attitude offend you?

As do our glorious, defiant eyes?

Coz we laugh like we’ve got the world’s riches

Piled under the place we lie.

You can test us with your swords,

You can hurt us with their cries.

But we’ll surprise,

Surprise you when we stand up,

When we stand up,

Up together in our misery and our triumph

You’ll hear it in our voices,

You’ll see it in our eyes, eyes, eyes,

In our eyes...” sung the prisoner.

A voice from another time. A place I tried not to revisit because it hurt too much. My body shook with the fear that it might not be her. It shuddered at the thought that it could be her, because when my eyes slid to the small slide tag under the window, it read, Test Subject, in large, lazy marker.

I rattled the handle, my sweaty hands slipping. I pushed against the door with my shoulder like I believed I was strong enough to push it open by sheer will.

Denis snapped his hand back and stared down at me in shock.

“What are you doing? I didn’t think you wanted to go in?”

“Open the door,” I screeched, blowing my hair from my eyes, my limbs heated with anger and anticipation. “Open the damn door!”

He moved around me and quickly punched in the code. The door clicked, and I barged inside, breathing hard, breathing clouds of pins and metal triangles.

In the corner, sitting on a suspended bed with her legs out in front of her, a long plait hanging over one shoulder, was a thi

My lips quivered, two tears spoiled my cheeks as I whispered, “Oh Gwen,” in a voice, split open and chopped into pieces.

Two concave eyes nested in purple and suffering glanced up, and my hatred for Grant scored my bones a little deeper. I was serrated, sharp, boiling with anger and disgust. Because he wanted me to come to this room and witness this scene… and he knew what it would do to me.

JOSEPH

I know what the end of war sounds like.

It sounds like broken glass crashing against metal. Shrieking and cheering. It sounds like clapping and sighing at the same time.

I know what the end of war feels like.

It feels like relief trapped inside death. Wanting freedom. Knowing the cost of freedom. Celebration and agony wrapped together in bloody bandages.

I should know by now what it is to lose someone, but it’s always fresh. Like a retractor, it opens old wounds again and again.

I let my hands fall from my face and my ears began to ring dully. The lights slammed on, showing the devastation and the success. Torn apart by the blast, one gate hung pathetically from a twisted hinge, the other lay flat on the ground. People stopped for about five seconds before they flooded the opening in elation, knocking my shoulders in their haste to get through.