Lazaretto (Camren)

S I X T E E N

"Saying nothing...sometimes says the most." –Emily Dickinson

CAMILA

I had always heard about being heart broken, though I never thought I would ever get the chance to experience it. But in that moment, I felt it. I felt it, and I wanted to crumble. I didn't know what else to do, so I ran. I took off running as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going or where I would end up, but I had to get out of there. And to my surprise no one followed me, but I was glad they didn't.

From weeks of training, I could run for a while without getting winded. It wasn't until about thirty minutes in that I could feel the burning sensation in my lungs. I hadn't noticed it, but I was still crying. I slowed my running to a walk and placed my hands on my hips. I was on the road with the pines, subconsciously heading towards the city. I stopped walking altogether and looked at my surroundings. The stars were much clearer out here than they were in the city. And it was quiet. It was so quiet I could hear my own heart beating in my chest. The only thing I couldn't keep quiet were the thoughts running through my head.

I looked up at the crescent shaped moon and sighed. At least there was one thing smiling tonight. I walked over to the bank of the road and walked down the ditch to sit up against a tree. Since I wasn't thinking straight, I had forgotten to grab a jacket. It was getting cold, but I didn't care. Eventually I would turn numb...a feeling I was already starting to get accustomed to. I rubbed the back of my neck until I could feel the makeup on my fingers. I didn't want to hide it anymore. I put my head in my hands and cried at the memory of Lauren getting her tattoo, and how I was too oblivious to know it was her all along.

I was woken up earlier than expected that day. We didn't have classes that day either because it was a special occasion: the tattooing ceremony. I dreaded that day with a passion. The idea of multiple needles stabbing my skin made me nauseous.

When you enter your thirteenth year, you get your number tattooed on the back of your neck for everyone to see. It wasn't enough that we had to wear badges with our number showing every day, but now society could differentiate between us too. And since my number was 5001, I got extra sympathy from people when I didn't want it. Though they couldn't show it, they had this look in their eyes that screamed remorse. I didn't like being pitied, and I still don't. Eventually everyone stopped staring at me like I was a sick puppy, but I would catch lingering eyes every once in a while. What I was always curious about though was who was the one that was spared? Who was number 5,000? I stood up from the table and made my way towards the Commons. I had never been there, and I was a little nervous. I saw 5007 walking a little in front of me, and I ran to catch up with him.

"Hey," I greeted once I reached him. He looked over at me, and I could tell he was nervous. He was pale and shaking slightly. That's when I remembered he had a fear of needles. Lucky him.

"Hey," he returned barely above a whisper. I was about to say something else when I was cut off by one of the guards.

"Number order, single file." he said, sternly. I immediately listened and walked to the front. Considering my number I was inevitably first in line. I wondered if 5,000 would be present since it was the tattooing ceremony, but I wasn't sure if he or she had to even get tattooed. The rules at the facility were so confusing.

I leaned forward and peaked through the door to see a single chair with a small table beside it. There was a girl sitting in it with her back towards the ceiling, her head facing the ground through a hole in the headrest. Her dark brown locks spiraled towards the floor. It looked like she was sitting in a massage chair. Her shirt was off, leaving her in only her undergarments, and I felt my face get hot. I knew I wasn't supposed to be looking, but I couldn't turn my eyes away. I couldn't see her face, and I was genuinely curious about what she looked like. She was society's golden child. She got everything she ever wanted. She was the spared one. Number 5,000. I heard the tattoo gun buzz to life, and my thoughts were quickly dissipated.