November 1, 2009
By Kelsey Wong BRONZE, Ardsley, New York
Kelsey Wong BRONZE, Ardsley, New York
4 articles 0 photos 5 comments

He had said that it would be okay. He had said that nothing would happen. He had said that they were protected. He had said everything, every word.

But he’d been wrong.

She swam in the shadows, lurking within the boundaries where her thoughts were free--they could do anything, they could hurt her. And as she stared out, groping the darkness, her mind overwhelmed her and a drench of her past emerged…

“Be safe,” she said, her tone stern like a mother’s, yet joking like a mischievous child. She knew there was nothing to worry about--well, almost nothing. The last time a Scouting had been executed was five years ago. “And I mean it,” she added, her voice hardening.

“Yes, mother,” he mocked. “I won’t do anything risky.”

She watched as he pushed off at a gentle stroll, smooth and casual yet slightly hastened. She was unaware that it was the last time she’d see him.

She wavered for a few seconds, intoxicated by the cradled aromas emanating from the cheery townsfolk. She remembered the smell--a wafting scent only recognized as that of home.

She began her lope back to their base, not even sparing a glance behind her as she left him to face Them alone…

She wished she could squeeze a tear out of her blatantly dry eyes--a small, insignificant indication of her sadness. But the storm delving through her was not one of sorrow, but one of rage. Her mind dawdled at his unfulfilled promises, his shattered reassurances. She was alone, morbid, forlorn. She had adapted to her life of poverty with him, not alone. She was meek and vulnerable, now, to her fears and, especially, to the Snatchers from which she had already pleaded mercy. Her flaws, her incapabilities, were all complemented with his strengths and powers. And now, she was nothing.

A wind hustled through the blurred scenery, stealing her grandeur and her invincibility; it knocked out her hopes and her dreams. With him, she was unbeatable; without, she was hollow and empty. She draped a hand on a sill in the rock and knelt her head on it, as if any minute she could break. Her pearly gray eyes probed the darkness, searching for an answer, any answer.

The bustling clamor perturbing the town halted abruptly. It wasn’t right, and she knew it. But now that he was gone, what was the use of caring? She shook off her feelings of depression and searched to find the reason of their silence.

“Loyal citizens of this town,” scratched a voice from the intercom. “It was brought to my awareness that a young man was found this morning in one of our townhouses.”

Her darting eyes dropped their gaze, the gray overwhelming them. She wished she could pause the world, stop all existence, and cease continuation of anything. But no, that couldn’t happen. Life proceeded: deaths occurred, life emerged, conformism enveloped the population.

“As many of you may know, we are part of the government association of Snatchers. It is our job to gather children once they turn thirteen and execute their proper training. Once they reach the age of twenty-one, we will pair them up according to biological make-up as to produce our approved set of new people. Once this occurs, the alleged parents of such child are permitted to remain with that child until the child reaches age thirteen. By that time, the process will repeat itself, sending the parents to one of our certified villages along with a group, as to confirm optimal security for each of the prized members in our lovely nation.

“However, it is also our job to snatch the ‘bad’ children, the ones who run away--thus, the name Snatchers. That is, unfortunately, the reason of our visit to your town today. We would like to inform you of the tragic event that occurred just today: the Snatching of a helpless young man. He was found in house 047, meekly insisting that he was unaware of anything. Now, you all know what must happen to these bad children.” The voice paused, permitting the crowd to recite: “Harvey’s field”. “That is precisely correct. They are sent to Harvey’s field to work. Of course, they are well nourished and are given remarkably good living quarters.

“Nevertheless, there are always the unusable children who have already exceeded the age of eighteen. Of course, it is very rare that our agency is unable to capture such children, but some cunning ones manage to slip through our blockades. Those children are put to death immediately and their organs are removed for scientists to study. This process allows them to find the genetic problems and try to prevent them when people are paired together.

“We would like to remind you to keep your doors and windows locked at all times, in order to keep any unwanted runaways from entering your sanctuary.

“We are glad to have your support in this plan, Village 70569. Thank you for listening, and we at the government association of Snatchers wish you a good day,” the Snatcher finished.

An automatic bout of applause began, lasting precisely ten seconds. Her mouth collapsed into a lopsided ‘o’, and her heart fluttered about in its binding cage. Letting her head slope down and a sigh brush through her, her thoughts overwhelmed her once again…

“Daughter,” her mother sighed, using the government-approved nickname for her. “Daughter,” she repeated bluntly, an uncertain firmness wavering in her voice.

She cast a look up, leaving the darkness of her shadow to which she was so accustomed. Her body was frail, but her views were not. She could and would have nothing to do with the sickening world around her. She drew in a meticulous breath, gathering herself before compacting back into her shadow, the small skeleton of her essence. For what use was living a life that you couldn’t lead yourself?

Her mother continued her chant of reassurances, her slew of promises that would never be kept. But her voice remained dull and her mind stayed impervious, impenetrable by her daughter’s previous pleas and begging questions.

She knew what would happen if she was Snatched: the same that had happened to her mother. Her whole being, her spirit, would be carried away, like dust in the wind. She would be an indifferent follower, restrained from her will and her beliefs.

And she knew what she had to do; she had to save herself. She had to be free, to risk everything to remain bonded to her own soul. She had to run, run far away, and never look back. She had to keep going and going and never stop. And so she would.

In a second, her hand flailed out and grazed her mother’s cheek. Her mother’s face plunged down, her hand gently caressing the pained area. But by then, her supposed daughter was already gone.

Her Converse clapped against the ground, etching new memories into the powdered sidewalk cement. Her steps pounded the floor in time to the thoughts rising into her mind. And so, she just ran into the wind, letting it scatter her into the night and guide her wherever it could….

She was jolted roughly out of her nostalgia by a shove from the wind, the wind that had once aided her and pushed her towards him. He had been a blessing, an asset in her noble cause. But life was cruel, the world was cruel--people were cruel. And so he had been; he had gone, left her; or so that was how she preferred to think of it. The truth was malicious and unfair, she knew. But it was the truth. It wasn’t changed or swayed, wasn’t tweaked or erased. And she knew that she was the one who had abandoned, the one who had left him to face the dangers of the outside world; she was the one who had turned and marched away without so much as a backwards glance. And nothing was as it seemed.

The author's comments:
This piece was inspired by the world around us. Our world is far from perfect, so I created a world that was perfect...or rather, a broken world wearing the mask of perfection. My writing isn't meant to be perceived as containing morals; however, take from it what you can.

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