Redemption

Chapter 3

The next couple of days felt like months. Weeks, even. Honestly, it felt like years. It was insane. I was so insecure. What did the instructor mean? The time to break has just begun. I had pondered this phrase for many nights now, lying alone in my room, staring at the dim ceiling.

I always waited for further instruction. Further knowledge on what was going on. I made sure to stay an extra minute after class to hear her simple voice spoken to me again. Not once, did I receive any new information on the subject. Not even the slightest glance from the woman. Absolutely, nothing.

I turn in my bed. How is it that I would be trusted with such secrets? For all I know, this group of rebels could be planning to overthrow our Society, our only home.

I hate to think of the Society as our home. I never found any suitable comfort in it. Often, I was terrified. Scared to walk outside the dwelling I rested in. I was scared to see the abandoned little boys and little girls hiding and stalking through the shadows. I was afraid of the government that our society was so strictly based on. I never showed fear like the others. My fear was far less intimidating.

Weariness tugs on me. I take a final glance at the gray ceiling and slip into a night terror.

Meghan sits on a rickety wooden chair. Her long, thick blonde hair falls over her shoulders and casually rests on the back of the chair. Her back faces me. I have the sudden urge to call her name. As I open my mouth, I find that I can't talk at all. My mouth forms the vowels, forms the words, and the sentences, but not a word fell through my lips.

I scream violently. Frustration begins to build up. Even as I scream, not a sound peeped from my mouth. Meghan just sat there. She knew I was there, I know she did. I move my feet toward her. Kicking a white skirt dressed upon me in the process. Kick, step, kick, step. Each step seems to take a thinning breath out of me.

Finally, I reach the chair. Meghan's hair was fallen across her face. Gently, I stroke her hair from her eyes. What I find, frightens me the most.

She was smirking at me. Her lips curled into a straight line with a twitch at the end, pulling her right cheek up. Her eyes are greenish-blue as always, but are decorated with red blotches of blood. Her cheeks are streaked with the thick red substance. Her eyelids are torn, flaps of skin flare out, waiting for a suture that will never come.

I stumble backwards. Where are you? What happened to you? Who did this to you? Meghan answer me! I shout over and over. Yet, all I can hear is my own voice embedded in my own skull. Nothing escapes me. I am tormented with my own secrets, my own fears.

~

When I awake, I am greeted with the cold. I must've tossed frequently the previous night, causing my thin blanket to be strewn across the floor.

I stand and dress.

I look at myself in the small vanity mirror. Tears streak my cheeks and my eyes are red. I look like Meghan, minus the horror.

I comb my hair and pull it back. I tie it off with a scrap piece of fabric from my mother's mending kit. I glance at my reflection once more. I proceed to climb down from the attic, in which I sleep, and into the kitchen.

As always, Father is reading the Society news, Mother is making rice toast, and the twins are fighting over their stuffed bunny once more. I look at Meghan and stare. She must feel my gaze for she turns to me and quizzically stares back. Her head cocks to the side.

I feel the need to run up to her and rock her in my arms, to feel her frail, warm body alive and not dead or beaten as I had seen in the night terror.

I turn my head and walk over to the cabinet in which my mother keeps her mending kit. I don't even utter a word as I silently take a cloth from the basket. Meghan whispers something unheard to Claire.

I figure that the sudden whispering that I heard was related to my absence.

Mother places the usual burnt toast in front of me. I nibble the edges and put the rest of the bread into the cloth I took from the cabinet.

Father looks at me and the parcel. His lips tug into a slight smile. I find his hand underneath the table. I take it into mine and give it a squeeze.

"Claire. Meghan. It's time to go," I say.

Mother drops the skillet and covers her mouth. Father looks at me in suprise. Meghan and Claire, stand and smile. Do they not care about my tiny act of rebellion? I stare at them in disbelief. Claire gives me a look so intense, that I do not question their behavior.

Unlike the twins, Mother and Father clearly disapprove. Mother motions to me.

"Come here dear," she whispers.

My toes tingle as I walk toward her. One foot in front of the other.

"Avery, I know, I see it in you. Please, do not take this further. They will find you and you will be taken away from us," she pauses, "Be careful. Please."

With that, I collect my things and begin the dreaded walk to the Academy.