A short story I’ve considered developing into novel status for some time. Nothing too spectacular about it.
From the Hollows of a Dream
We were in the Great Hall, so it must have been a Saturday. Arm in arm I strolled with my Edgar around the market. I knew we were being watched, but I didn’t mind. This was my favorite time of the week, when we were allowed to be free to hold one another in public. I was lucky; I may not have been allowed to bear children, but I was given permission to choose my own husband. Or maybe it was because of his security clearances he was allowed to choose me. I still don’t understand how it works. I just know I’m lucky. The women I work with are married to such brutes. I couldn’t fathom not having my sweet Edgar, with his dark, deep set eyes and brilliantly blonde locks. Looking at him, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, but I didn’t. We kept walking, carrying on our silent conversation.
Time passed quickly as we ate lunch with the other couples in our station. The pit of my stomach churned, so I passed on the sliced meat and pureed green vegetables. I just wasn’t feeling very well. Maybe I forgot to take my medicine. Instead, I stared at the outside world. “Outside” was a strange word choice. We didn’t really have an outside—just a patio, three sides made of glass. The sun always shone so bright we couldn’t see very far, but if I closed my eyes I could see trees, like the ones in the picture books. Or even the ones from memory. Maybe even a bird or two. Being on that patio is the closest I’ve been to being outdoors in over 15 years. If I try hard enough, I think I can still smell it.
Edgar and I resumed our gentle canter around the Great Hall, looking at hand made dresses by seamstresses and sweets from bakers. We were never allowed to buy anything, even if we had the extra money. But sometimes, I think, it was enough just to look.
As we readied to make our final turn around the Hall—passing a woman who sold paper flowers—I noticed a small boy walking alone. Did he escape from the Children’s Ward? Had he been overlooked? I knew the punishment for leaving your building was severe, even for a boy who couldn’t have been more than two. Can children walk at two? I can’t remember. It has been so long since I even saw a child. I don’t think I ever knew them that well anyway.
Curious, I led Edgar to the child standing the hallway—he always was so agreeable—peering out at adults I wasn’t sure he recognized. There were so many people that most days I couldn’t remember names or faces. Maybe it’s the medicine the doctors give me for my illness. They said it had side effects; I don’t remember them. The boy, with neatly trimmed hair and a vacant expression, stopped just before the entry to the Hall when we reached him. How had he gotten so far? Had no one else in the room noticed his presence? Cameras were everywhere. You couldn’t just go where you pleased. If not for the cameras, then surely the motion sensors would attract attention.
But here he was. Unnoticed.
I knelt beside the blonde-haired boy and felt a tug in my chest, while Edgar kept an eye out for the guards. “What are you doing?” I asked. Did I sound angry? I’m not sure I ever have before.
He giggled. His laughter rang out loud enough for the closest ears to hear. My heart stopped. They couldn’t know he was here. He was just an infant. Infant? Was that the word for his age? Something was blurring my memories. Those hands, those tiny, baby hands reached toward my face and without thought or reason, I touched them. I don’t even know when I started crying. I held his fingers to my wet cheek and felt so blissfully wonderful. The rest of the world fell away.
The world came screaming back when the alarms sounded. His hands passed through the motions sensors in the doorway. That would set the guards at the end of the corridor on alert. Panicked, I looked to Edgar for help. I never violated the rules. I always took my medicine, didn’t I? Maybe they would be kind for my offense? Edgar’s look suggested otherwise. He nudged me forward.
Run? Run where?
The Great Hall burst into chaos. If we ran, maybe no one would know it was us. I found myself staring at the boy, wishing I could take him with me. I wanted to hold him, touch his hair, put his hands between my own. But if I took him with me they would know it was I who breached the barrier.
I left him there, now crying, screaming for someone to help him. Please don’t hurt the boy, I pleaded in my mind to anyone who could hear. No one responded.
No one ever responds.
The Directors taught us to run home when the alarms sounded. Going home meant everyone could be accounted for when they ran the Census. Edgar and I found ourselves running with the crowd, through the crowd, to our home that would be safe. Running at speed down the halls, I began to feel happy. Almost hopeful. If we could make it home, back to our rooms, then maybe we would be safe from the guards. Rule breakers were almost always caught within seconds and we were still running. It had been 7 minutes since the alarm. I let myself smile. We were at our door; our lovely blue door that matched everyone else’s in our row. I did love that they matched.
Inside we both let out a long sigh. Home. I hoped the boy was okay.
Our safety was short lived. The knock on the door was harsh and the shouting that followed sent a ripple of fear through my body. They knew. Of course they knew. They always know. I don’t know why I ever thought we could get away. Really, they didn’t even need to knock. They had access to everyone’s rooms. I think they knocked because they liked to hear us squirm, like rats clambering to get through the same hole in the wall. But in the end, the hole always leads to a trap, and the rats always lose. I didn’t much like being a rat.
I don’t remember what they said when they entered. They were loud and they had weapons. I was staring at their weapons, the weapons they used to kill, the weapons they pointed at Edgar.
Edgar? No! This was my doing. My Edgar was innocent. Like a fool I threw myself at the feet of the Officer, tears in my eyes. I loved my Edgar.
“Please,” I begged through choked tears. The Officer stared in amazement at my face. “This is not my husband’s fault. My husband is a good man. I went through the barrier, not him. Take me.”
The guards look at one another. There were five of them, I realized. Why so many?
“How is she able to talk, sir?” I heard one of the guards whisper to the Officer. Talk? I could always talk. Couldn’t I?
The guards didn’t need any convincing that I was to blame. After the stabbing sensation faded from my right arm, I was dragged from our home, despite Edgar’s protests. His clearances wouldn’t save me.
All I could see was darkness.
Crack.
I heard screams.
Someone was hurt. Badly.
It sounded as though someone was being whipped in the Great Hall for everyone in our Ward to see. My vision was returning. Where was I? Crack. There were so many people with such vacant expressions. Crack. My feeling returned. I must have been flitting between the conscious and unconscious. I wished I had stayed unconscious. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. Never had I felt so awful in my life. I think I threw up. I could feel it in my stomach. I should have eaten something for lunch. Now I wouldn’t eat again until tomorrow.
Everyone stared as my half naked body was being ripped skin from muscle. Crack. None of them showed any emotion toward my pain, which was probably best. If I had seen tears it may have made feel like more of a martyr than a criminal. I knew I needed to be punished. I ruined my status for the sake of a little boy.
The boy! Where was he? Had they found them? Was he safe? Crack. The thud of the whip kept me from trying to struggle to see if I could find him in the crowd. Even if I could look, I knew he wouldn’t be here. I hoped he wasn’t facing the same fate in the Children’s Ward. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what he looked like, but all I could think was he was small and needed protection. I could protect him. I could be a good mother. I think.
I don’t know anything about children.
The whip stopped and my hands were wrenched free from the ropes. My punishment was over. I fell to the ground, unable to stand on my own. Two sets of strong hands grabbed my arms and dragged me across the floor. The light flickered as we made our way through the parting crowd. “I’m sorry,” I heard myself whisper to no one in particular.
I didn’t even know anyone there.
A door opened and they tossed me inside. My hand grazed the flesh of someone, or something. It took several minutes, maybe hours, for me to gather the strength to move my head and see who lay beside me. It was my Edgar, my lovely Edgar on the floor of our home. I couldn’t see well, but I think he had a wound on his head. He was breathing. He was alive.
I smiled, placed my hand in his, and fell asleep.