5Standing: Chapter One
As the storm continued, my head felt as though it was about to burst and most of my upper body had gone completely numb. My ragged, cold breaths hissed past my teeth as terrified children ran into the Hall. I was fairly calm and composed, given my current condition.
"Gwen!" Sioned called, clearly exasperated. He ran awkwardly through the slick mud, nearly tripping as he came.
Trying to catch a better glimpse, I strained my eyes through the rain. I couldn't wipe the water or cold perspiration from my forehead because I'd been chastised and sent to the discipline row. This resulted in an arched metal strap fastened to me to restrain my neck to the back of the chair while my I put my hands under me in POW fashion.
Sioned's face was dripping and his clothes were soaked. "Gwen," he panted, "I've been given orders to-" A crash of thunder silenced the last bit. "- the Hall!"
"And do what?" I inquired. Sioned was deeply concentrating on my restraints, and didn't hear me. Not that I was expecting him to.
After fumbling with the new keys on his shiny chain, I was freed. "Now get to the Hall."
"Sioned!" I shouted through the storm. This time, he pretended not to hear and didn't turn back. As I trudged to the Hall, the mud squished between the toes of my bare feet. Because of the current state of the economy, the Society could no longer afford shoes for all of the minors. It seemed that no one could afford anything anymore. It happened because the formerly mighty Republic of Salemale had buckled to the armies of the Empire of Demeshire.
Of course, all of this happened before I was born. In fact, no one knew exactly why everyone was living in misery and despair, but it had become the accepted way of life for decades. Sometimes, I would fantasize about the ghost-like buildings that loomed over the Society grounds. Rust hung from the edges like icicles, and skeletons of automobiles lined the perimeter of the Society Council offices. I used to pretend that the remnants were castles, but I'm much too cynical for that now. Sioned and I used to explore the ruins, but Soldiers are forbidden to associate with minors, not even their own children, unless they are on official business.
Sidestepping the broken glass, I leaned on the heavy door to the Hall and pushed myself inside. Nearly everyone from the Society was there, crowded into his or her respective families. Soldiers stood on the south end, while women and minors were on the other. I know that my father had to have been in there somewhere, but since I had never seen him, I had no way of knowing.
My mother, a freckled, slightly aging woman, grabbed my arm and pulled me through the masses. Our family group was quite small; it was only my mother and I, and my uncle. Uncle Drake had been excused from military service because of his withered arm. It hadn't soured him, though, and he remained good tempered and gentle most of the time.
"What did you do this time, Gwen?" he inquired gingerly.
"I dropped my lantern and the glass cut a six year old," I lied. I had actually been caught drawing nude portraits, but it wasn't a major infraction, so I only had to go to the discipline row. I don't know exactly why I lied, but I didn't think my mother or Uncle Drake would understand.
The members of the Society didn't have a set moral code or system of ethics, but they did believe in crime and punishment. Our particular branch is industrial, so anything that may take away from manufacturing and producing is strictly prohibited. We're not a cult; we don't kill people for breaking the rules, but we do brutalize. Sometimes it's the only way to get through to repeated offenders. Famke, my best friend and work partner, loathes public beatings. For some reason though, I've always found them amusing. I don't so much enjoy the suffering as much as I do seeing the expressions on people's faces when they fade into unconsciousness, or sometimes death, if things go too far. That has rarely happened though.
The Leader's gavel silenced the crowd like a reaper to grain. "Order, please," the Leader commanded to the last whisperers.
Everyone craned their necks to see the podium. The Leader only spoke to the citizens about very important things; so no doubt, they were trying to soak up every word.
"Ladies, gentleman, Soldiers, minors, please take your seats." Roaring whispers and shuffles echoed in the Hall as we sat on the threadbare mats. When everyone was seated, the Leader cleared his throat and spoke again. "We live in an age of destruction and carelessly organized chaos. Our children walk barefooted though the streets littered with bare glass. Minors as young as five have lost their lives on the boats, and all that our Soldiers can hope for are a quick and merciful, but certain death. That is why," he paused with a glance toward the table of Leaders, "the other Leaders and I propose to completely rebuild the Society."
Gasps and excited squeals erupted from everyone's faces. The only ones not smiling were the other minors of my age group. This included every sixteen and seventeen your old in the Hall. We were in the Labor Division. In other words, the rebuilding and construction would be heaved entirely on our shoulders.
"Because of the burden this would be to our minors," he added, "we'd enlist the help of the Soldiers."
Everyone went completely silent. The Soldier rule had never been broken before.
"When would we start?" a lone voice drawled from the back. Obviously, the gentleman didn't have to speak loudly because no one else was.
The Leader, caught off guard, answered, "As soon as possible, Sascha, perhaps within the month." Apparently, he was so busy basking in his power that he hadn't given any thought to people asking questions. He was bluffing. The Council didn't have any kind of a time frame in mind; they didn't even know whether or not they were going to go through with it. He hated to lie to all of these people, but given his situation, he had no other choice. The Republic was in shambles, and rebuilding the industry and reestablishing enterprises seemed to be the only way out. He coughed and concluded, "Minors, more specifically sixteen and seventeen year olds, return to the workplace. Everyone else is free to leave."
The crowd paid their usual respects with a bow and a nod and filed out the doors. It'd stopped raining by now; a rainbow curved over the Hall. As I walked to the factory, a little of the caked mud came off of my feet and was quickly replaced by fresh, sticky mud. Oh, how I wished they hadn't done away with shoes!
The smell of paint fumes and smoke greeted us as we walked in single file line towards the factory. Our current job was to manufacture tools and large machinery. I wasn't in the Machinery Sector, however. Our division made drills, hammers, saws, screwdrivers, wrenches, and axes. I suppose we should have felt honored; to be in the tool factory was the highest ranking you could have as a minor. Normally, only people of my age group were permitted to work here because of the risk factor. I think this rule was put into place because a fourteen year old, Aleeshon, was scalped and had her arm torn off in the Machine Sector, and she died of gangrene.
The Officers watched us work, but they weren't too harsh on us. They were mostly there to make sure that no one stole anything. Grunting, Famke tried to shove a plastic handle onto a screwdriver. It's no small wonder her productivity had gone down, her right hand was in a cast after she broke it while serving on the discipline row. I felt sorry for her; I was the one who'd gotten her in trouble. Last Tuesday, I was trying to sneak a drill home so that I could store my drawings under a floorboard, but I panicked at the gate and threw it as far away as I could. Unfortunately, Famke picked it up just as an Officer came by. She shot me menacing glances the entire time she struggled with the screwdriver.
Clumsily, I slapped a head onto the drill and fastened it into place. Then I sent it down the assembly line to the Paint Sector. This went on for about an hour, and then the workday was over.
The rainbow had long since faded, and a purple sunset with wispy clouds took its place. My house was only about a five-minute walk from the factory, so I hurried home to eat.
"Hey, freak!" Dominion taunted. He wasn't quite mature enough to handle my art.
Tongue in cheek, I strode past him. He spat at my feet, but missed. This is pretty much how every day went for me, get up, go to work, fuck up, go back to work, and go home. That's all. In my own way, I wanted to break the cycle. For so long, I'd only dreamed of getting out, of getting anywhere. . . I just didn't know how; there was nowhere to escape to. Sometimes, I dreamt about a warm place; a place that wasn't covered in shards of glass and mud. Somewhere I could have shoes. Somewhere I belonged.
* * *
In bed that night, I drew a Pieta. I don't know exactly what it is, but there's a statue by an automobile near the Machine Sector that has that title. A stone woman is holding the body of a dead man. What captures my attention are the faces. They look peaceful, somehow. No one can tell me who the people in the statue are, or where they came from. When I look at it though, I feel comforted. I don't know why. Rubbing my eyes, I reached over and shut off my dim lamp and forced myself to sleep.