Part One
“From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.”
--“Alone”, by Edgar Allan Poe
1
The figure stands alone in the shadows. Completely alone. His baby-blue eyes shine bright in the blackness that surrounds him. He trudges slowly amongst the ruins of this damaged world. He stops, violently kicks aside a large piece of rubble, stares silently as it flies across the broken road. The bright blue eyes flit quickly back to where the blackened piece of concrete had previously lain. There, his eyes fall upon a single object, shimmering alone amongst the ugliness that is this place: a golden chain, and in the middle, hanging perfectly: a golden crucifix. His eyes stare mercilessly at the piece of jewelry as his fist clenches it tightly and it crumbles into dust between his cold, lifeless fingers.
+++
I jolt awake, the sweat sweetly trickling down my pale face. That dream. That same dream with that man. That terrible man of whom has been my main haunt for quite a while now. My Aunt Kat, God rest her soul, would always say, “Often, the dreams that reoccur are the ones that shape your life.” Wisdom like that right now would be greatly appreciated.
The loneliness engulfing me here is completely, and utterly unbearable. It is as if you had been running up the stairs, too excited to care, and all of a sudden there’s one less step than expected. And as your foot falls, it seems as though a rock of sudden dread and surprise has just dropped to the pit of your stomach. That is exactly how I felt that day when they took me away. Away from the sky, away from my family, my home, and into this underground hole.
Seventeen. I am seventeen and constantly going through the motions as lifeless as the place of which I now find myself. Just doing what is needed to survive down here. Every day, it’s the same routine, the same boring old schedule. This constant normality makes me want to run into a brick wall. I hate being down here. Trapped with no way out. Most nights, right before they come and make sure I’m asleep, my thoughts are not filled with what the next day will hold. No, my thoughts are of my family, my mother, father, and little sister, Klaire.
How are they doing? What are their lives are like up there? And do they ever wonder why I am underground in some government operation? Most of all though, I wonder if they ever miss me as much as I miss them.
I mutter a silent prayer that I’ll be able to see them again before finally letting unconsciousness take me harshly into its dark embrace.
Again I dream of those hideous blue eyes, appearing from the darkness behind me as I stroll. He then pulls out a knife with a black haze of smoke tightly wreathed around it. I want to yell, to scream, to wake up, but I am frozen to the spot: immobile. The knife flashes and I feel my own warm blood running down my neck. I fall down, forever and ever. Falling faster and faster. Then, seconds before my mangled body is finally able to hit the ground where it shall forever rest, I wake up.
“Joy Wotcher is required at the gate. I repeat, Joy Wotcher is required at the gate,” says the voice over the speakers. Wotcher? That’s me, I think. How should I know? It has been all too long since I have exchanged conversation with a human being. Although surely, I would much rather feel sorry for myself in peace; I rise to head to what surely will be yet another disappointment added to my sad existence down here.
After living underground for as long as I have, I have only ever seen “the gate” once. I was seven. Seven years old, being dragged through that awful gate into this new, terrible place. Nobody wants to admit it, but once you enter through the gate, the only way you’ll be able to leave is through a body bag. I myself, had thought once of taking it that far, just to get out of here. Of course, I never went through with it; I have more to live for than that.
As I get even closer, I think of making a run for it, to risk it all just for that sliver of hope. I realize, without noticing that I have been clenching my hand tightly around the last thing I have other than memories to remind me of my real home. A small, insignificant piece of jewelry given to me by my mother the day I was taken away. A golden crucifix is all that remains of my former life, the life that was worth living.
At last, the towering metal door of the gate is in my sights. The ominous steel structure looms above us all, and I am held back forcefully as the gate slowly opens, the doors slightly creaking at the enormous amount of force needed to push them open. I look longingly at what is beyond the gate as it opens: a sky. The stars are shimmering brightly, tempting me to leave this place to go live underneath them in freedom. I long to do it so badly, but looking at the golden chain hidden under my uniform I realize that it would be useless. After just reaching the gate I would be shot down before ever experiencing that magnificent sky again. That is something I would not, and could not risk.
I stand still and watch as an enormous crate is dragged inside. From what it looks like, I get to carry in the weekly food shipment. It is essential that the people from up above bring us supplies once a week, for without their aid, we would all die slow and awful deaths down here. As I keep looking I wonder, why would they need extra people to carry the supplies? They have always managed fine before. Especially now, the shipments have had a lot less to offer, maybe the people above ground are finally forgetting about us. I mean this base was created as a safety net, in case a war broke out. But seeing that it’s been so long, I think we’re just rotting away down here for no reason whatsoever.
All it takes is a few more seconds to see why I was called here. Not too long after the crate arrives, something else appears in front of the gate. Being pulled roughly by large men in black uniforms are children. Most are still in their pajamas, taken while their parents were sleeping. They cry, scream, and kick their captors sharply in the stomach. No effect. I feel my own tears beginning to well up in the corners of my eyes. I must not show weakness, so I straighten up abruptly and blink back the flow of tears.
“Hey, girl. I have a little roommate for you,” says a large guard gruffly as he forces a small child into my grip. I look down into her tear-filled eyes; she can’t be any older than eight. So small, so alone, and so frightened. I softly grab her arm while bending down to gently say, “Hey kid, what’s your name?”
“N-Nicole,” she mutters out through another round of sobbing.
“Listen, Nicole. It’s not so bad here; you have me to look after you no matter what. I’m Joy, but you can call me Jo.” I offer her my hand, but she slams her face into me and embraces me tightly.
“I want my mother though, I miss her,” she squeaks out softly into my stomach.
“I know,” I say as I return her embrace, “Me too.”
+++
By mid-evening Nicole and I are back in our cell. I ask her how she was taken and what had happened, but she just sits upright on her mattress silently. Staring expressionless at the wall, as if what I’m saying doesn’t compute whatsoever. Without any response, I decide that will be a conversation to have in the future with her. Without much else to do, I settle into my own mattress and relax for a few hours until I have to try and fall asleep. I mean, it’s the kid’s first night here. She had better be left alone for a while so that she can figure things out for herself. She also needs to get over the immediate grief of the knowledge that she will never see her family again.
I awaken slowly from yet another troubling, mysterious dream. I gaze lazily up at the bunk above me, where undoubtedly Nicole is sleeping away her grief. I really don’t want to wake the kid up, so I slowly swing my long legs over the side of my bunk carefully setting them down onto the freezing cement floor.
It still comes as quite a shock to me as my feet touch down onto the burning cold tile. It is as if, somehow, a bolt of lightning has come up from the floor in through my feet and up through my spine. Time to start another day.
+++
It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. The way they lock us in here like animals, giving us these ridiculous monkey-suits that we have to wear every day of our life. To take us away from the people who really love us, and most of all: giving us false hopes and dreams of escaping. We all know we will be here forever, and what can we do? We’re just children. Mere, insignificant kids.
After my second year here, I had already figured out how to pick the locks on my door. The hard part was remaining virtually invisible after sneaking out. Then again, they haven’t caught me yet on any of my early morning escapades, now have they?
I slide with my back against the wall of the dark corridor, trying to stay out of any light that there is. Remaining unseen is vital. I have no destination. I guess I just put my life on the line for some level of excitement to break the tedium of this less than mediocre existence. Sometimes it’s a food raid. Sometimes it’s seeing how far I can get until security gets too heavy. My favorite of course is sneaking to one tiny skylight I spied near the gate. It is possibly the most dangerous, but it’s more than worth it to see what most people down here may never see: the sunrise.
That beautiful majestic sunrise is the only thing that keeps me going down here. The hope of standing in a peaceful meadow watching the golden rays racing across the vast blue sky. Chasing away the darkness to bring forth the light anew. That is what I dream of. That is what I believe is true serenity; even though I know deep down inside that the only time I will ever be able to experience its godlike radiance is through the smallest skylight, looking up from under the ground.
As the great ball of flame rises, I am blinded. Immediately I shield my eyes. All I do is sit there for a while. Just to enjoy this rarity of being somewhat happy. It is then that I realize that my birthplace, New York City, is not too far from this awful place.
“New York,” I mumble softly. The city I recall now ever so slightly, the city in which I was raised as child. I know that my family is probably in our cozy three-roomed apartment. Probably talking about the news and other trivial things. They probably don’t even remember they ever had a daughter, and if they did, why didn’t they come for me?
I want to yell, to scream out, so that someone, anyone would hear me. Of course, I do not; that little yell could get me noticed, and I could end up with a bullet in my chest. Why must I be trapped down here in the first place? Why couldn’t someone else suffer this lifetime sentence of seclusion? And why did I not even say goodnight to my family before I went into my room that night? For now I know I will never be able to see them again. All I have left is hope, and down here, it really doesn’t mean too much.
I ask these questions almost every day now. I turn around quickly after I hear what I believe to be a hurried shuffling of feet. I stare with an angry gleam, ready to fight to the death. It’s the faded blue uniform of another prisoner that stops me from just about gauging their eyes out.
“Geez, don’t be so jumpy. You know if you attract too much attention you’ll get shot around here,” says the stranger.
Ignoring her snide comment completely I say softly, “Who are you?”
“It’s me,” she says.
“Me who?” I say with a humored smile inching across the corners of my mouth.
“You’re quite the joker aren’t you, Jo?” She says, lifting up her chin, surveying me. As if she has any sort of reason to feel superior. “And it’s Brea. Don’t you forget it.”
“Well, you seem to be quite the expert on “me”, but really, I know nothing about you. Now if you ask me, that’s just unfair,” I say.
“Life’s unfair,” she says with a smirk as she skips lightly away. “You just have to learn to deal with it.”
As her light footsteps fade away into the blackness, I realize how fatal the possibilities would be if she ever told anyone about seeing me. Fantastic. I’ve been discovered.
+++
I walk into the small room that Nicole and I share drowsily.
“Where were you?” Nicole asks timidly. “We can’t leave, can we?”
“No we can’t leave. And I just felt like stretching my legs. Go back to sleep,” I say simply, not really wanting to give away the fact that I had just been discovered. Nicole opens her mouth slightly as if she wishes to say something, but she thinks better of it and turns to go back to sleep. I eventually settle back in, almost in vain, to slumber.
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