It's been about a year now. Every Friday and Sunday, I prepare myself for the weekly offerings. I usually watch quietly, without a single sound in my small apartment to distract me from something that can make me miss any part of this broadcast. Sometimes, I don't even get the chance to make food for Daniel when he gets home from work. We have to resort to eating those NAC ready-made meals, the ones that taste like nothing going in but always leave a strange aftertaste in your mouth. He doesn't tell me anything, but I know just by looking at his face at his face when he bites down on the synthetic beef, he wants to speak up. I can't tell if him not saying anything is a good thing or not.

A part of me wishes that he would, just so that nasty feeling in my chest would go away. The air hangs too thick whenever we eat those meals.

I remember my mother telling me that it was the responsibility of the wife to make food, clean and raise the family while the man goes off to work. "It's what keeps the family in perfect balance", she used to tell me. It's not like I can hack one of those governmental jobs that Daniel has, he's always coming home tired and stressed because his boss wants his monthly quotas to be higher. I guess having somewhat of my freedom at home is somewhat of a better situation than having to go to work...

Also, it's not like Daniel is a bad person. He doesn't beat me or drink too much, smoke too much, or even talk that much. Sometimes when we are trying to sleep, we can hear our neighbor coming back home from the bar, I assume, and get into a whole shouting match with his wife until we hear a loud bang, followed by gentle sobbing.

Yet, when the next Friday comes, she is there barking at him. I just don't understand why she would be so combative with the drunk man when she knows all fights end the same. Why does she expect a different outcome? If I was here... well, I would just be quiet and hope he doesn't hit me.

Back in university, I had a boyfriend who tried to hit me. With an open hand he swung and hit me across my face. I remembered I was so shocked when it first happened, all I could do was cry. He told me that he didn't mean to, he told me that he was so incredibly sorry and that it would never happen again. I believed him.

But the second time he hit me, I punched him square in the face and broke his nose. He said that he was going to tell the youth officers that I was expressing manly emotions. I was scared because girls were not allowed to display any signs of violence, so I told him, "Are you really going to tell them you got beat up by a girl?"

Sure enough, he didn't, and we just broke up. I think since then, I started to rebel a bit. I started to wear my skirts long, pump up my hair, smoke. I was back a delinquent back in those days, I used to get into fights with boys bigger than me and sometimes I would win.

To think that I once had such an exciting life when I was younger, only to be reduced to just a complaining housewife that can't even cook for her husband when he gets home from work. I mean I used to be such a badass. Maybe in some way, not cooking for him is my way of rebelling. But that is much too stupid, even for a person like me.

Especially now that I'm 30 weeks pregnant. Not like I had a choice, I just wished I could've turned 18 before the annual insemination had to begin. I was fresh out of university; I was probably only living with Daniel for a couple of weeks before I got that letter in the mail. I still remember the date, March 14th. My birthday is on June 21st. Me and Daniel happen to be from the harvest generation, so we just got the short end of the stick. I wasn't even old enough to get cigarettes on my own or buy a beer. I still had to ask Michael to buy me a pack to get my fix.

Michael is my elder, but he never treated me like there was an age difference between us. Growing up, he was a bit of a bully towards me, but I am thankful for it. I think I would even purposely try to get on his nerves when we were kids. He was never the kind to go and tell mom about it, he would settle things quickly with me by being physical. As children, we had gotten into so many fights with each other but once we were done hitting each other, we knew that it was just sibling love.

I think the reason why I became a delinquent and got into so much trouble as a kid was because of Michael. He wasn't a delinquent but since he was one of the few colored boys around these parts, he would constantly get harassed. He always used to tell me that we should stick together as people, meaning that when I got old enough that I should marry a colored boy. But look at me, I'm married to a red-headed man and going to have a mixed baby with him. I wonder what he would say if he saw the kind of relationship I found myself in today.

Either Way, he would slip in a sly remark about my taste in men. But I wouldn't care, just hearing his voice would bring me happiness.

Hmm, Michael. I can still remember how he smelled, something like burning wood when he was clean; clay when he was dirty. I wonder where he is right now? I hope everything is alright with him, it's hard to believe that anything can survive out in the remnants... but I have faith that he is safe. He was always a tough kid…

I miss him.

All this reminiscing about the past is starting to really distract me from the television. I need to watch and make sure that his name isn't going to be displayed with the rest of the executions. I can't stand that they changed the format of the broadcast. Before they used to show all of the names of that people that were going to be killed but now, they don't reveal the names until the time comes. It has really been messing with my time management skills. Not that I was that good to begin with… but it does definitely make it worse. That's why I've been flaking out on Jonathan's meals. Lucky for him and his gut, the broadcast is almost over. I can get up and start breaking out those frozen-

"Before we cut to commercial break, coming up next is a stray male identified as Jeremy Hall."

"Mr. Hall was found outside of the remnant last week having relations that go against the many laws of the NAC. Instead of progressing the betterment of the human species, he chose to follow his own carnal desires."

"Yes, another one of those selfish men that refuse to help their fellow man."

"You said that right, Genitor Matthew. But before we get to it, here's a brief sponsor message."

I couldn't breathe.

There was a weight on my chest so heavy that it felt like I could die from suffocation. "I can't believe they said his name", I tell myself. "I can't fucking believe it!", I tell myself one more time as I feel my eyes begin to water. "Am I positive that I heard his name?"

A commercial for a restaurant is beginning to play, I've been there before with Daniel. The food was ok, but I would rather think about how bland the food was than think about what I am about to witness. I just want something to distract me from the inevitable. "Serving partners since the last millennium, come to Jumpin' Jacks." I've probably seen this ad a hundred times, they never changed it. These people in this commercial looked, I don't know… not human. Like they aren't real people. Like there is nothing behind their eyes, just soulless husks of human skin.

By now tears are running down my face. No matter how many happy people I see, eating their meals with those stupid animated hearts coming out of their stupid fucking hotdogs or fries or even fucking coffee. Jeremy is going to die and it's all my fault. I'm the one that put him in that place. I'm the reason why he is going to go through that horrible dehumanizing process and eventual beheading, all for entertainment.