Escaping Opiate

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Zon, a sixteen year old girl living in a futuristic dystopia must escape her blood thirsty country with her older brother Zane before the chief of a military force captures and discovers that they are sober from Senetrine12, an opiate designed too erase any individuality, physically altering and reshaping spheres of the brain. Will they make it out alive? Or will they be beaten and gruesomely lynched like their Father and Aunt?

Submitted: April 08, 2016

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Submitted: April 08, 2016

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Part one: Discovered.

 “Everybody outside.”

 Mr. Aalders held onto both of his daughter’s shoulders, his head lowered, guiding them outside. Each of them was silent, even the three-month little baby, who was swaddled in stripped denim, held in her sister’s arms. As each of their forms disappeared out the front door, my thoughts of Bambi consumed me. Bambi, just twelve years old, was no longer a refugee, she was a prisoner now and all though we had only known each other for a couple months, she was the closest thing I had too a blood sister. Nights of staying up late, chatting about the daily life, or chasing each other in the wheat fields, were gone. They were gone.

 “Shhhhhh…” he whispered into my left ear, the stench of his breath wafting in the air around us. Both of my hands were placed flat onto the thin wall, my eye peering into the mouse hole. The only light source within the darkness of the closet was coming from the living room, which I could directly look into from here. “Don’t cry Zon.” He murmured, his mind under firewater. Of Corse, I wasn’t crying or even whimpering. Strangely, the only real fear I felt formed from my unmoving heart, how still it was, terrified me.

“Mrs. Callie Eikenboom.” A man dressed in black faux leather, a rifle at his side, read aloud from a script that wasn’t there. “You are hereby sentenced to death, breaking law S12, housing untreated and defective OneWorld criminals.” His voice boomed out, so that every soldier, scavenging the house for more refugees, could hear. They each stopped, watching as a tall white man, dressed in a shiny, red uniform stepped forward. “Its Chief.” My stifled voice told my drunken older brother, who promptly covered my mouth with his right hand.

 Chief held both of his hands behind his straight back, while small, beady black eyes glaring blankly down at my Aunt Callie searched for something in her. Instead of trembling, or perhaps crying, instead she looked back up at him, just as blank, with a nonchalant glaze over her pupils. “I spot a wolf disguised as a cardinal.” Were her only words, before Chief revealed a thin, leather whip from behind his back, and began to beat her with it. Her flesh splitting, clapped in echoes through my heart. Each crack of whip up heaved a roar of laughter from the soldiers. They rejoiced at her licks, smiling and whistling at her screeches, but just as soon as it started, it was over. She lay upon the floor, limp, face down, her body soaked in crimson.

 Zane’s hand trembled as he held me in place, fearful that I would push down the fake wall that separated the back of the closet from the insulations, revealing our very small worm hole. However, my fear was that he would begin to sob, alerting the soldiers searching for us.

  “Kill the Defectives. We cannot have more useless women roaming Day care.” Ordered the Chief, who dropped the whip onto the floor, next to Aunt Callie, before promptly taking off his black gloves. “Records state that her brother’s children are attending WinterGale boarding school, certainly the school reinforces Senetrine12, but we must test them to be certain. Inform them that their aunt was murdered by run-away defectives.”  A lower class soldier raised his hand to his heart and stomped his left boot complying. “And hang the body before the court house, we need to make an example.” Was the last Chief demanded, as him and the rest marched out of our house.

 The single soldier, alone, threw aunty over his shoulder and I watched as blood began dripping from her gashed chest, down the soldiers back. When I noticed her green eyes now rolled into the back of her busted skull, I knew she was dead.  

 We had waited a good hour before pushing the fake wall down and softly stepping out into our living room. The front door was still wide open, presenting the dry, wheat fields that stood tall and broken. While in the horizon, past acres of flat, barren land, the sun was peeking through the red smog. Glaring at us.

 Brother, now the soberest I had seen him in days, fell to his knees, hands soaking in Aunties pool of blood and ripped flesh. His head was bent, orange dreadlocks covering his albino face, silent and still. My eyes looked past him and what was left of Callie, back into the sun. Bambi is dead, my arms covered my chest, and Aunty was dead. A sudden, painful cold chill burned in my chest.

 “We have to leave.”

 My eyes closed, for the only thing I would allow myself to look at was the orange sun, dull from the pesticides that clouded the farm air. In my chest, it felt strange. Even though he was sitting in the same room with me, I wanted someone other than Zane and me to have experienced this. So badly I yearned at that moment for the sun to be conscience, and too say, “I saw it too.” Zane was here, he heard everything, but I was the only one that witnessed life stolen from her.

“Zon we have to leave.”

 He repeated, standing now with blood soaked into his jeans and sleeves, orange hair covering his eyes. My cold hand covered my mouth, feeling bare without my brothers to stifle false whimpers. “Zon?” in my silence, he turned to see me, leaning against the closet doors frame, emptied. The last time, anyone had died in front of me, it was dad, who was hung from the church banister, dressed in his Marine uniform. His red neck was twisted up, tongue blueish and sticking out, while his bulging eyes sought down at me, amongst the crowd.

“Zon?”

 My mind returned, blinking, my gaze faded back to him. He seemed emptied too, but aware. “Go pack your bags, before they return looking for us.”

. . .

 The sun was setting now, just past the acres of land covered in dust, spreading a crimson hue over the land. Brother stood tall next to me, as we looked back at our little, ransacked cottage and busted barn, standing alone in the evening wind.  The wheat fields, brittle and dry, did not sway, instead they stood tall. From a far we saw lines streamed through the earths hair, remnants of me and Bambi, playing during Sunday lunches. On the back porch of the cottage, a fresh morning breakfast picnic was still placed, mugs full of tea all alone were now collecting bugs, hydrated bread was now molding in the pesticide farm air and Bambi’s tablet of poems was scrolling pages by itself. From afar, it seemed someone was still inside the house, all the lights were on, flickering as thin shadows danced behind stitched curtains. Easily, it seemed a family still lived in the government regulated farm land.  

 Within my soul, the urge to reach my weak arm out, blindly, towards my side and grab for her, was drowning me. Between my thin fingers, soft sensations of her Sunday dress taunted me, for she had been so close to me, and now she was just gone. Dead. Bambi, was dead. 

 Comforting me, brother placed his thin dirt caked hand on my shoulder, and pushed me into his side. I felt every single rib bone in his body, for it had been a dry harvest.  “Where will we go?” my mind sought the answer to an impossible question.

 All my life, not once had I left Triticum, our state was vast and large, but, Triticum was the only city I had ever been in. Generations of my family lived here, generations of ancestors had lived off the land and built farms. Dad had told me that our great grandparents, had cultivated and survived by growing cocaine back when maps called our state Parana, and young men killed each other too eat. During the winter Festivals, when he bounced me on his good leg in front of annual bound fire, influenced by the fire water, he would tell me stories of Parana.

 He told me about the people who had inhabited this land before us, thirty years before One World took over and sent them all to Day Care. They were not pale like us, they were not subdued like us, and “They had the brightest souls I’ve ever seen.” He drunkenly blabbered, bouncing me. In his drunkenness, he told stories of the violent men, all under Serentin12’s influence, beating and pillaging these people’s life. “They keep saying Serentin12 corrects chemical defects.” He whispered to himself often, “but, all I’ve ever seen is death.”

 Death, what a good way to put it dad.

“Let’s go before they arrive.” Zane, held me close for a moment, then released me and started walking away. His back to the sun, now facing the moon rise.  For one last time, I wanted to keep my eyes on our home. My home. Maybe our last home. The place I was born, and the place I would never return to. A memory of Bambi, sitting gracefully under the large oak tree, just beside the barn stuck with me. Her poetry was beautiful.

I’m nobody! Who are you?

Are you nobody, too?

Then there’s a pair of us-don’t tell!

They banish us, you know.

 

How dreary to be somebody!

How public, like a frog

To tell your name the livelong day

To an admiring bog!

 “Zon?”

My thin fingers reached into my messenger bag that rested heavily on my hip. In a fury of emotion, with her on my mind, I pulled out a canister of lighter fluid. In one swift motion, my dirt fingers ripped off the lid, and poured a good amount of its contents on the edge of the wheat field.

“Zon what are you doing!”

 Before he could grab me, my fingers pulled out dad’s golden lighter, lit it, and threw it too the wheat. A creature of the night screamed and hissed from the combustion of flame. The flames spoke out in pain, screeching as it ravaged the wheat, quickly guiding itself towards our barn and home. Greenish coal smoke rose towards the sky, fiercely consuming the sun set. Here, at this moment, I understood her words with what alcoholics in our village called a moment of clarity. 

  “We are nobody, and it must be that way.” 

 Zane, stayed utterly silent. 


© Copyright 2017 Sam Dolan. All rights reserved.

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