The grass was soft beneath my feet. I stood there still, for only a moment, to appreciate it. The sun was warm on my face, the wind blowing through my long blonde hair felt so soft on my pale skin. I was standing in a meadow, containing the most beautiful, purple flowers I had ever seen. I closed my eyes to take in the sweet smell that engulfed me. The scent was light and what I can only imagine is lavender. I was peaceful. I was happy. When I opened my eyes, the meadow had disappeared. I was back in my small bed in my small house, surrounded by chaos and pollution. It was just a dream. A dream that would never come true.
I turned my head to look outside my uncovered window and noticed the sun barely over the horizon. I knew it was early, too early to be up. Most of the town, if you could even call it that, was still asleep. I hear my father below me, in his workshop. He's coughing, again. I know something is wrong with him, I can feel it. I wish he would just tell me. Why does he treat me like I'm a child? I'm seventeen now, I can handle it. I lift my small body off my bed and turn slightly so I'm able to sit up. The air smelled of rust and dirt, like it always did, and it felt colder than usual. I groaned as I stood up, my body aching from the day prior. I had volunteered to help old man B with his crops to earn a little extra for my father. He works so hard for so little. I threw on the only pair of clean clothes I had left, a loose-fitting dress that was once white, but had been stained long ago, and a dark cardigan that had belonged to my mother. She died years ago, giving birth to me. It dispirited me that I had no images to remember her by, just an old cardigan. I shoo the thoughts out of my head and replace it with a mental note to take the dirty clothes down to the stream for a washing. On my way down to the workshop, I pass an empty bed in the corner that makes my green eyes sting with tears. I haven't thought about her in a long time, and I'm not going to start now. I rub my eyes to get rid of the evidence of sadness and continue to where my father is.
I head down a sand colored hallway, filled with holes and mice droppings and continue onto the creaking stairs that lead to the basement. These stairs should have given out years ago, how do they still support our weight, I wonder to myself. I am forced to remember that there isn't much of me to support left. I had only weighed about 80 lbs., probably, and for being five feet four inches tall, that wasn't a good thing. It was hard to gain weight in my society, food isn't exactly a luxury. In fact, it's hard to do anything in my society. I am so lost in my thoughts that I didn't realize I am already at the bottom of the stairs. I must have been standing here a while, because my father has a concerned look on his face.
"K? You okay?" He is always worrying about me, even when he should be worrying about himself.
"Hello father. I'm good, just thinking. What are you doing?" I ask, hoping he doesn't push the subject.
"I have to finish this fixing this..." he stops suddenly, coughing. Again. I rush over to him, patting him on the back to help ease his pain. Seeing him in this state, bent over, straining for air, hurts. I've already lost one parent, I can't lose another. He eventually stops, though I am still scared he isn't getting the help he needs.
"...this gutter for D, his wife, F, and their son. Wouldn't want to upset them, so they call off the arrangement" he states, to calmly.
Their son. J. The only person I hate in this world, and the only person meant to be my future husband. With our small population, and tight living space, the people of my society rely on arranged marriages and planned honeymoons to produce a select number of children. According to my community, J and I were meant to be together. I beg to differ. Just thinking of him makes me want to rip out my internal organs. J is a part of the richest family in my community, if you can even call him rich. None of us have a lot of money but his family has the most. And because of that, he walks around like we should be kissing the ground he walks on, and yet he probably doesn't even know how to spell "ground". Even though we stop going to school at fifteen due to not having enough room, he could at least read a book, or learn to. Don't get me wrong, he is probably one of the most handsome boys in our society, sadly. Every girl wishes he would be with them. Well, not me. He has no compassion for anyone and only cares about himself. Even though he has a pretty face, he has an ugly heart, and no brain. That is the reason we will never be compatible. My father notices that I am lost in my thoughts, which has been happening to me a lot lately. He knows how I feel about J and his family.
"K, I wont always be around to take care of you. J has a wonderful house and everything you need to be happy without me" he says, hesitantly, as if he is reading my mind.
"To bad he doesn't have anything between his ears" I respond, feeling annoyed and smug. My dad has already gone back to his work, but I could see him glance at me from the side, not amused.
The rest of the day continues like any other. We eat next to nothing, my father works twice as hard, while I assist. I've always hated metal working, but I like the sentiment of working here. This shop was opened by my great, great grandfather and has been passed down through the generations ever since this community started.
Sometimes, I wonder what life was before these camps. They tried to tell me that this wasn't a camp but it's pretty obvious it's a camp. We have little to no money, no official government or laws. Old man B tells me stories sometimes, about what life was like outside of the perimeter. He told me tales of sadness and glee, worry and hopefulness. I could listen to the hopeful ones forever. It had been so long since I held any bit of hope. He says that when the perimeter was first set up, people tried to escape and run away, but they were met with hatred and violence. Many died. He tells me that after trying for some time, people in our society gave up. They stopped trying to leave and started building everything we have today. Old man B claims that it had been over 50 years since the perimeter was guarded and enforced. Still, no one tried to leave. There must be no hope left.
After helping my father most of the day, I take the washing down to the stream. On my way there I hear a commotion coming from the brothel. Having a brothel in this town makes me feel barbaric. The fact that these establishments still exist in this world astounds me. I always thought we were better, more developed than that. The door of the brothel swings open and a man stumbles out. He is obviously drunk. Its only 5 pm my brain says. There is only one person stupid enough to be inebriate this early in the evening. And he's stumbling towards me. I turn from him, quickly making my way to the stream, thinking if he sees that I'm busy he'll bother someone else. I can still hear him approaching as I lean down into my knees and dip my dirty laundry into the brown water. I pray he doesn't see me, but my prayers are ignored when I hear him call my name.
"K, baby. How are you?" he yells from about a yard away. I freeze. How does he manage to pop up into my life every time I step outside? I guess that is just a perk of living in a camp.
"Hello J. I am well, and yourself?" I grit my teeth. My father would kill me if he found out I had been rude to my future husband in public. I can already hear him. Who will take care of you when I'm gone if you ruin this? Why can't I take care of me? I am thrusted back into reality when I feel a hand grab my arm, harshly pulling me up from my kneeled position, my washing falling everywhere. I look up and glare into J's eyes, with an annoyed expression on my face.
"J, I can't talk to you right now. I have chores to do," I state, trying not to show the anger on my face.
"My wife will always have time for me, as I am the most important thing in her life," he spits. I feel as though I could get intoxicated on his breath alone. Pain shoots through my forearm and I notice he is still holding onto me, squeezing a bruise onto my skin, through my cardigan. I try to pry my arm out of his tight grip, but to no avail.
"I am not your wife J," I tell him, my voice full of fake confidence. My body had begun to shake, involuntarily, but I would not let him think that I am afraid, that I am weak.
His face contorts in rage. He roughly pulls me behind a building right next to the water I know as the butcher shop. I have taken plenty of farm animals here for Old Man B. I struggle under J's touch but can't get away. Somehow, he holds my arm even tighter. I feel as though my arm is about to break. I no longer contain that confidence I had before. Now, I am scared. As soon as we are behind the stone structure, he pushes me towards one of its surfaces and I bounce off it like a rag doll. I have never seen him so irate. He stood so close that if he were any closer, he would've been me. He places one uncolored hand around my waist to hold me in place, while another snakes under my chin so that I am forced to look into his infuriated pupils, and it's like time stops. I can't move. I can't speak. I feel helpless.
"You will be," he whispers roughly after what seems like hours, "so I suggest you keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut, and do what I say, hm?"
I can only nod as my fearful eyes start to tear up. He smirks at my terrified state as he removes his hand from my chin and places it opposite of his other.
"Good. Now, how about we have some fun," he spoke, softer this time. Before I can politely decline his offer, his lips are on me. My neck. My jaw. And then my lips. I don't kiss him back, mostly because I don't want too but partly because I have never kissed anyone before. I have never even held anyone's hand. He notices my hesitation, which only upsets him more. He pulls away callously, removing his hands from my middle and his right arm raises above his head. I close my eyes tightly knowing what is to come. I feel the wind his palm makes as it moves, but before it connects with my left cheek, a voice emerges. Not just any voice. My savior.
"J?" J doesn't even move his head away to look at the newcomer. I look down, wanting to sink into the dirt below me and never come out.
"Yes, V?" he answers, recognizing the voice almost immediately, irritation laced into his words. He slowly lowers his right limb, to not raise suspicion, but never takes his eyes off me. V is the unofficial mayor of our community. She is a very nice lady in her early fifties with some of the grayest hair I have ever seen. She is sweet, yet stern, which is why everyone trusts her to do what's right.
"Oh thank the Lord! Your father has been looking for you for ages. I think I saw him in the courtyard. Why hello K. How is your father doing?" she asks, after she notices me in-between J and the brick formation.
"Hello V. He is doing well, thank you," I force out in almost a squeak.
"That's great to hear, K. And J, you might want to hurry. He didn't look to happy," V says, a sad smile playing on her lips. She leaves shortly after, but J still hasn't moved a muscle. He is staring at me as I avoid eye contact, afraid to upset him any further. He steps forward slightly and kisses my neck. I tense at his action.
"See you later baby. Don't miss me too much." He walks away with a smug look on his face and turns around the building. I stand stiff, afraid he wasn't actually gone. His eerie message lingers in my ear. After many minutes of debating my safety, I quickly pick up the laundry, not caring if its really clean or not. I almost sprint back to the security of my home, avoiding anyone who looks my way. It felt like an eternity before I was home. I threw the dirty washing on the floor as soon as I enter the door. I ran up the steps, not caring if they break, taking me with them. I pass the empty bed in the corner before curling up in mine, and for the first time in years, I allow myself to cry. My father calls me for dinner not an hour later, but I am too frozen to eat. I lay awake in the same spot in my small, flat bed into the darkness of the night, too numb to cry anymore. I hate this bed. I hate this house. I hate J. I hate my life.