anmo

Prologue

Being happy is a choice. But it's such a hard thing to do. When your own brain tells you it's tired, when it reminds you of memories you wish to be buried for your whole lifetime, in times of almost smiles that turn into snickers or frowns, choosing to feel at ease is such an impossible feat.

When those people who suffer simply wish to be comforted but speaking of it is hard, when the society is not open and only says they will listen, would someone who needs a helping hand even try to reach out first when that person's voice is locked and cannot be heard of?

Sudden rush of sweet moments, of immediate hopes, of burning passion for dreams kept within those muscles of your heart, they don't last long. The ones that stick for good are the painful ones, and even if you can confidently keep on with life now, they remain to be there, just hidden well, but never erased.

In your mannerism, in your words, your interaction with others. Do you only accept? Do you flinch at a single touch? Do you easily cave into the requests? Do you live just to please others? Your whole being becomes a mess, you do grow, but in a haphazard way.

Why do people who deserves hell gets away unscathed? When the people who seeks for being left out by the world or hanging by a single thread to keep on living breaks out of their shell or do a commotion, they automatically get the spotlight and judged by those who don't know a thing.

It's painful. Living is painful. It's never easy. All those positive teachings? They are only there to make yourself believe that it exists. That utopia. Fake paradise. Illusions made. Pretentions. Naivety.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain becomes the only constant thing.

'Are you afraid?'

'...of what?'

'You're scheduled to die tonight after all. You can still request for-'

'I know what I entered myself into.'

'But they'll be reaping your organs one by one. While you're awake. Even though the anesthetics are there to keep the pain away, you'll be nothing but a sight to see. You won't be treated like a person at all. Why did you still sign up for it?'

'Aren't you showing a little too much concern towards an item that will be sold piece by piece in a while? Don't. It doesn't fit our situation. It'll never make sense.'

'I'm still your father.'

'That's just genetics. I don't have any obligations towards you, as you to our ancestors. I just happened to be made at that time of the year. Whether it's out of an accident or planned, it just happened. Let's not go with any formalities now, shall we?'

'...I'll be going now. The harvesters will be here in a minute... with the cleaners... and that doctor, she ensured that it'll be a painless death.'

'I'm sure it'll be.'

With one last look he left without saying another word.

While she and another captive were left to their own thoughts.

-

Pain is constant.

Even if you say that you've already numbed yourself to avoid it, with the momentum of covering it all up, one change in the force applied to you would either break the dam or damage you from within. Solutions are just partial non-existence of what haunts you, but it'll return, like a tide washing away the debris of the forgotten boats.

'I'm tired. I thought I'll be able to visit the sea before I'm gone.'

'Don't you think you're luckier?'

'What?'

'You'll get to be done for but in a painless manner. It's the perfect escape. But I... they'll never let go of me easily. I'm jealous... we're just fine china aren't we? Ceramics, easily broken, have value but easily replaced.'

The clock's broken, but noticing every single thing in that room, it'll be time soon.

'Are you a believer?'

'Of what?'

'Anything. Anything to hold on to even if it's not true. Anything.'

'...sorry. I'm not.'

'Right. Believing doesn't make sense. If I can be nonexistent by just not believing at all, that would be a better option. Right?'

The hallway is not well-lit, that she can't clearly see the other's face, but her voice reminds her of the moments they were outside the glass walls and playing on the street, waiting for their parents to come home with good news of newfound history or unburdened future. When their clothes were full of holes, hair unkempt, flies swarming around due to the lack of water for cleaning, with their faces ragged, and their limbs full of bruises. She remembers those days clearly.

'Hey. Stand up, you're up next.'

Her thoughts were broken by a gruff voice coming from outside her cell, three burly men came in and dragged her forcefully, and she let them be without putting up a fight. The floor is unfinished, and the asphalt is too rough for her tired physique, and she remembered how she learned it the hard way, thigh and calves still bruised and filled with healing scratches, scabs all over her arms and elbows. The reaction from the other cells are a mix of anger towards their captors by the sound of clanging on glasses and indifference about her fate as they are already all spent to begin with.

As the last of the cuffs was locked, with her eyes and mouth covered, with the chains connected to the tightly hoisted arms and legs, she was laid in a cold metal gurney which strongly smells of disinfectant her father had used at their home as well.

It brings a sense of nostalgia, and dreadfulness. It is true that she is not afraid of dying but dying in such a manner felt a little more unbearable now as she felt them move her out of the closed-off cells.

But it is what it is.

They are a part of the government that condemns reason and justifies lawlessness. Execution or suicide, no in-between for the traitors. The process of growing up was painful, but the presence of her family made it livable, and losing someone like her for the assurance of lengthening their lives is enough reason.

Her who was suicidal and did bodily harm. Her who was lost her path and was not able to build one to keep on moving along the fast pace of the world. Her who had finally coped up and tried to live. Her who was still judged for being indifferent to that very same world that did not try to understand her a little bit.

After all, the microcosm that is her home was the only world she needed to live in. Everything outside her bubble was not worth the attention nor protection.

That was the way she lived.