The life of a nothing part two

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Please read- the life of a nothing part two.

Submitted: December 18, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 18, 2010

A A A

A A A


When the new girl came I knew things were going to change.
Her eyes were full of something alien to us. They didn’t look down. They scanned the room curiously. They were full of questions. They were full of… life.
I’m sure I had that child-like questioning in my eyes once. We all did. But it’s been beaten out of us.
We are not treated like humans. The year is 2050. The world is over-populated. There are too many people and not enough food. So no-one is allowed any more children, not since 10 years ago. We are illegal children, born by rule-breaking selfish people who got murdered. And we were kept in here. To work, and make ourselves useful. Mrs Appleton says, if we are here unwanted we must do our best for our superiors, by cooking for them and cleaning. By the time we are sixteen we’ll be working as servants for the legal people. We are surplus children, unwanted, illegal, superfluous.
Most of us, apart from me of course, were put in here at birth. Those poor children were taught their parents were dirty, law-breaking criminals. I know differently because I can still remember what it was like to be in my mother’s arms breathing in her lavender and sunshine scent that reminds me so achingly of home.
Anyway. This girl, it was unusual for a girl so old to be put in here without being put down. Because she’d been outside, so she would have the power to question the terrible things we suffered through, the brainwashing into thinking we were worthless members of society.
Her memories would be fresh and pure. She would be able to clearly remember the moon and the sun. Her skin was dark brown, she stood out like a sore thumb among us. We were all ghostly white, as the majority of us had never been outside, or looked out of a window, in our lives. The only light we’d seen was the artificial lights that bore down at us.  
She- I didn’t know her name, she introduced herself by her outside name, Sally, kept whispering to us at dinner time. At the end of a long hard day we usually sat nursing our woods and shovelling down our sludge. That’s what it is. Sludge. Grey paste designed to taste disgusting but give us all the nutrients we needed. We were absolutely forbidden to talk during dinner time. Otherwise we’d get a beating or be put in solitary confinement.
I’d been in there myself. They feed you one meal a day. The rest of the day you sit in a dark cell, barely big enough to lie down in. With the cockroaches and the mice and the dust. Terrified of what lurked in the dark shadows. Hungry and bored. The memory of the light the only thing you can hold onto to keep sane.
Now, writing is my sanctuary. When my pencil touches paper I’m whole again, free again.
I think of my life as being in the middle. One side is the light, where you are free to laugh and love and live. The other side is the darkness that has smothered the voices and thoughts of the kids I’m surrounded by. And I’m in the grey, desperately holding on to a few snatched moments of light so keep from falling into the dark.


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