In a nightmare world ravaged by misery, the Imperium offers utopia to a select few. When Arya and Everett are recruited into this elite society, they choose to leave their homes against their families' wishes.
Naive and young, Arya and Everett are...
The auditorium descends into chaos as the floor-to-ceiling screen goes black. Overcome by abrupt numbness, I let my attention wander around the room to find almost everyone in tears, the only distinction being that some cry tears of joy while others sob in dismay.
Suddenly, a sharp wail emanates from somewhere behind me. Everett and I, along with several uniformed officials flanking the walls, turn our attention to the commotion. I crane my neck to find Mick trying to drape his arm around his twin brother, James. But James shoves him away, his boyish features contorting in gruesome despair. Mick accidentally collides with a girl, causing her to cry out. Instantly, two of the armed men break through the swarms of people to reach the twins, barking orders with their backs to me.
Soon, all of us are ushered out of the auditorium with instructions for those who have been chosen to return to the hall in thirty minutes when the clock strikes twelve. Back under the unforgiving sun, I shield my eyes against the sky, a shade of dusty grey from the mill's fumes. As the residual chill leaks out of my skin, reality sinks in, my eyes landing on Joseph and my father, standing side-by-side in the distance.
"How are we going to tell them?" Everett mutters from right behind me, his breath fanning the nape of my neck.
Pushing past people, we finally emerge out of the group. Spotting me and Everett, my father rushes towards us with Joseph at his heels, both their faces raising a silent question.
I nod and speak loudly to be heard over the crowd, "Both of us."
My father exchanges a shocked glance with Joseph before exclaiming, "This is even better than I thought! The Resistance will be so much stronger when you both—"
"We're not," I interrupt sharply, ignoring the curious gazes that people throw our way as they pass by. "We're going to the Imperium. "
My father rears back as though I've punched him, his dark eyes regarding me with the distant wariness of a stranger. His attention flits to Everett before he murmurs, "Don't let anyone distract you from our real purpose."
Bristling at my father's words, I lift my chin. "We decided this together."
Joseph speaks up, gesturing with his hands in agitation. "The Resistance needs you both! Think of the greater good, when you stay and—"
"Stay and what?" I gesture at his tattered and oil-stained brown shirt, identical to the one my father wears to the mill every day. "Work at the mills until Everett and I die like our mothers?"
Despite people constantly bustling around us, it feels like the open ground has fallen eerily silent with my words still hanging midair. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Everett drawing a deep breath to compose himself.
"We're sorry," he says softly. "We were never a part of the Resistance out of choice."
Beads of sweat run down the length of my back as Joseph mutters a string of expletives out of frustration.
My father says, warningly, "I'll ask you one last time, Arya."
His voice wavers when he says my name, causing a lump to suddenly lodge itself in my throat. I force myself to think of the life that awaits me and Everett here — joining the laborers at the mill for a wage that will never be enough, carrying the burden of lifelong regret for pointlessly turning down a life at the Imperium.
"This is what I want," I retort, squaring my shoulders to mask the unsteadiness coloring my tone.
"Then I have nothing to say to you," my father declares, cold and unforgiving, and turns to walk away. Joseph casts a dubious glance at his son before following my father as dutifully as a shadow.
I watch my father's receding figure and when he fully disappears from my line of sight, I realize that I will never see him again. Suddenly, I hear Everett exhale a long, rough breath as though the same revelation has dawned on him. The lump in my throat hardens as I turn to him and bury my face in his chest.
Just then, the clock at the top of the mill begins to strike twelve.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
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