Chapter 21: A Journal Entry by Grayson Prescott
There’s a series of tunnels under the Council house that few people know about. Back when the Council still planned to add us on—or so they said—they showed us the tunnels. Wesley, Aspen, Adelyn and I could play for hours upon hours in the arrow-straight, steel paths cutting a grid out of the ground. We would play the childish game of tag, running up and down the halls with pumping arms and labored breathing. Aspen was always the best at it—her unproportionate long legs gave her an unfair advantage.
The tunnels were technically supposed to be an escape route for the Council in times of emergency. But it’s funny how so many things in life have an underlying use or purpose that is not at all intended.
Shoes were built for a practical purpose—to protect the feet—yet most Resdonites use them as gaudy fashion statements instead. Beds were made for better, more comfortable sleeping arrangements, but many times they’re used all day to lie in lazily, snacking on food and ignoring responsibilities.
So the tunnels may have once had a practical purpose to begin with, but that wasn’t how we viewed them. Or maybe children just see things in a different way. Creativity and imagination still light up the eyes of the youth before it’s buried by the stress and responsibilities that come with age.
Children are also ignorant to the dangers of life, but this is often mistaken for fearlessness. I long for the days when the tunnels were my playground, when the Council was the biggest, most vibrant source of light in my life.
Now, I can see their flaws simmering beneath the surface. The light I once associated with them has been replaced with darkness. And if I let my creativity run wild, as I’ve been programmed by society not to do, then I can only see doom and the impending catastrophe.