~•~
I never did anything wrong in my life. I never spoke against my teachers, never got bad test scores, and I never broke any laws. So what has brought me here, staring at the electronic band that has been sinched around my wrist since the day I was born? What caused the government to give me such a small number at birth? I was given seventeen years at birth. Each year is stored on the band that covers my left wrist.
Each year the number will go down by one, my parents still have nearly ten or so years left in their old age. They will live long and happy lives with each other, they will be able to experience all of life’s treasures.
So how is it fair that my number is so low? I stare at the band, eyes full of tears and my hands shaking. I’m not ready to die, I really am not ready to die. I haven’t lived yet, I haven’t had my first kiss, I haven’t failed my first class or quit my job. The band bares a bold number one on its blue screen that flickers slightly.
Mom and Dad sit on either side of me, staring at my band with solemn expressions. Everything is silent, the TV is turned off, and the curtains are drawn shut tightly. Through the thin walls of our apartment we can hear our neighbors celebrating the upcoming year. Their loud music is causing our shared wall to shake ever so slightly, making our dish cabinet rattle. I know that in twenty minutes their celebration will be over and everyone will grow silent. Tick...tock.
I tear my eyes away from the precious number on my band and I look at the analogue clock perched before us. 23:55, five minutes till my life is completely over. I won’t be the only one who dies tonight. There will be a large handful of people who will die with me, but they will be old and happy and satisfied with their life. I am not even close to satisfied
Hot tears roll down my cheeks, itching the dry skin as I refuse to wipe them away. Mom doesn’t say anything as she wraps her frail and loving arms around me. Tick. She leans her head against my shoulder and I can’t help but to allow more tears to fall down. Tock. My vision swarms as I bow my head and squint my eyes, sobs wracking through my chest and shaking my shoulders.
“I’m not ready,” I whisper weakly, unable to look at my parents. “I’m just a kid.” A loud choke-like sound wrangles from my throat as my sobs grow louder. My whole body tremors and I feel Mom grab my hands in hers. My tears sear my skin as they slam down onto my arms and hands.
The couch shifts as Dad stands, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I can’t take this Mirabell, we have to do something,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. Mom shakes her head, her hands gripping my hands even tighter.
“You know what happens if we fight this Daniel,” she responds tightly, her voice hoarse. I raise my head to survey my parents. Tick. They look exhausted, worn to the bone with the heavy and pressing matter of my situation. Tock. Mom’s baby blue eyes are rimmed red, water peaking over her eye lashes, and her face is pale and sunken. Dad is in no better condition, but his eyes are hardened with anger rather than softened with sadness and grief.
Dad glares down at Mom, a determined look lying beneath his anger. “So you are just going to sit here and sip some tea while they take our daughter?” Dad seeths, his voice growing in volume. I flinch slightly at his tone, I have always hated when Mom and Dad would argue.
Mom doesn’t respond, but instead stares down at our clasped hands. We sit in an uncomfortable silence until Dad storms into his room, his steps fast and heavy. I glance at the clock again; 23:58. Two minutes left. I bite the inside of my cheek and remove my hands from Mom’s. Dad is right, I can’t go silently, this isn’t how I want to go. I am too young, I have too much to offer for the rest of my life.
I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands, clearing my throat to help ease away the mucus. “I won’t let them take me, Mom.” Tick. “I won’t.” Tock. Two words can say a lot, they can determine a lot about a person. These two words seem to snap Mom out of her helpless trance and she stands up quickly.
She gives me a tight nod and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “You’re father is right, we have to do something about this.” Mom grabs my arm and drags me to her room, where Dad sits defeated on the bed with a frown etched into his face. “Daniel, stand up and push the bed against the wall. Quickly we don’t have much time.” No questions are asked by me or Dad. He quickly pushes the heavy bed, leaving a large space of floor in its place.
Mom falls to her knees and rapidly knocks on the floorboards, her ear pressed against each one as she knocks. I shift slightly and look outside of the bedroom at the clock. 23:59. “Mom-” I want to warn her but she cuts me off with the raise of a finger. She mutters at me how she knows that time is running out and she begins to pry her nails at one of the floorboards.
“There has to be a loose one, I just know it.” Mom whispers to herself. Dad looks from me to Mom, then grabs my shoulders
“Get under the bed, Vivian.” he orders. I don’t ask any questions and I get down on all fours next to their large bed. The gap between the bed and the floor is small, I will have to squeeze myself tightly to be able to fit all the way under. I glance over at Mom, who has lifted a small section of the flooring and is reaching down.“Mirabell, there isn’t time to pry at the floorboards. Go to the kitchen and pretend like you are celebrating the new year. They can’t know she’s here.”
Mom nods, jumping to her feet. She bends before the bed and thrusts her hand towards me. In it is her family heirloom, a beautiful ruby necklace with exquisite and elegant wire framing around it. “I love you,” she whispers sadly. Mom spins away and hurries out of the room. Dad looks at me again as I scoot underneath on my stomach.
“I love you, Viv.” Tick.
“I love you, Dad.” Tock. I can hear the neighbors next door grow louder and I know that only means one thing. I hasten my pace and Dad closes the room door behind him as he leaves. Sweat pricks at my forehead and my stomach twists and growls with the growing nerves as I wonder how close the guards are to me.
Suddenly the neighbors begin to chant in unison, “Three!”, tick, “Two!”, I close my eyes and whisper a silent prayer to every known god there is. This is it. Tock. I open my eyes and stare at my wrist band. “One! Happy New Year!”. The number flickers and is replaced with a zero. Everything goes still and every muscle is tense with anticipation.
Three heavy knocks echo through our silent apartment and a whimper weasels from my mouth. They’re going to find me, they’re going to see me. Am I hidden enough? I hope I am hidden enough. For good measure I press myself against the wall. Sweat makes every movement uncomfortable and slick.
“Vivian isn’t home today, she’s spending the new year out with her friends,” I hear Mom chirp. Her voice is too sweet and tight. “You are free to check in her room, but I can assure you officer, she isn’t home.” I close my eyes and swallow. For some unknown reason it is suddenly a difficult task to swallow and breathe. My eyes are flickering between the edge of the bed to the bottom of the door.
I can see shadows moving outside of the door, I can hear boots thudding across the wooden floor in my room. They are only a wall away from me. My heart is pounding so loud that I am deafened by it, I am sure that they can hear my heart and will storm in at any moment. The nagging tick and tock of the clock has been replaced with the loud ba-dump of my heart. My heart is too loud, I know it is! I can hear how fast it’s beating! Sweat drizzles down my forehead and drops to the floor.
Suddenly, the bedroom door swings open and I have to suppress the urge to fidget. My breathing is too loud so I try to hold my breath and only breathe when there is a louder noise going on. Four pairs of pristine black boots enter the room, standing firm and still. It is silent. I can see Dad’s shoes behind the boots, Mom stands next to him.
“Search the closet.” I hear someone say. A pair of boots branches off towards my parent’s closet and I hear hangers being discarded onto the floor. They are going to rip this place apart until they find me. Please no, I silently beg, please don’t let this happen. My whole body begins to tremble as the bed above me is thoroughly searched for any trace of my location. The toes of a pair of boots prods beneath the bed, only inches away from the tip of my nose.
Dad steps into the bedroom. “We already told you that she’s not here, where would she be? Under the bed?” he growls in annoyance.
“The tracker in her arm band says otherwise. Considering it is against federal law to remove the band, I doubt she just forgot it here,” a cold hard voice cuts in. “Running from your designated death date is also against the law. Should I remind you what happens to people who hide criminals from us?” Mom and Dad don’t have a chance to respond.
There is a metallic click that seems to echo through the room, then a loud gunshot. The piercing noise startles me and I scream, covering my ears. Mom drops to the floor like a sandbag, her lifeless and empty eyes staring into space. Red blossoms through her shirt from a very distinct hole. Realizing what I did, I slap a hand over my mouth.
The whole room is silent. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. Another scream escapes me as the person who was once tearing apart the bed suddenly drops down next to me. His face is covered with a mask and his hands are gloved. I don’t miss the revolver on his waistband. Sobs and pleas flood from my mouth as he grapples with me. I feel Mom’s necklace fall from my hands and I hear it clatter to the ground.
“No! No! Please no! Please!” I scream, my voice cracking. His gloved hand fiercely gropes my arm and my screams grow louder. I kick and punch, I claw at his arms, but nothing deters the guard from dragging me out from beneath the bed. My nails bleed as I scrape at the slick wooden floor, tears falling fast and obscuring my vision. “No!”
Another pair of hands is on me instantly, forcing my arms and legs down harshly against the ground to reduce my squirming. “No! Dad! Dad help me!” I scream, desperate for help. But Dad won’t respond, because my eyes land on his dead body. Blood pools around my parents, my tears join them. “No!” My head goes light from crying and I can’t help but release the ugly terror in my chest.
I’m going to die. Mom and Dad are dead, no one will save me. Cold metal encircles my wrists and digs into my skin. Once the shackles on my feet are secured I’m hauled onto my feet. I buckle my knees, trying to rag doll, in hopes they will drop me. But instead they lift me up like I weigh nothing to them and begin marching towards the door. I kick frantically, screams tearing at the flesh of my throat.
The front door grows closer and closer and fear overthrows me. I thrash in every angle possible, knees and elbows flaring out. “No!” My feet press against the surface of the door, trying to keep it closed so they can’t take me. The two guards holding me step back, far enough that my legs don’t reach anymore.
A mixture of spit, tears, and snot plasters my face and I feel the fight flee from me. The door opens into the hall, no one is in the hall. No one will open their doors to see what the commotion is or to help me. Everyone is awake, I know that. I know that everyone can hear me but they watch through the peepholes of their doors.
I’m thrown over the shoulder of a much larger and stronger guard. In absolute defeat, I watch as my apartment door closes. No one will know that Mom and Dad lay motionless inside, laying in pools of their own blood. Their bodies will be cleaned up before I am killed.
I never did anything wrong in my life. I never spoke against my parents, never stole, and I never broke any laws. Regardless, in five minutes my whole life has been stripped from me and my parents. My life that I took for granted, I realize, is a gift so precious. We round the corner and from this point forward Vivian White has never existed.
