A Song of Silence

Chapter 9

Astrid

It was a quick, bloodless death. But my mind keeps hearing her phantom screams and hopeless pleading as they drag her away, but she stays. She stays, she stays, she stays with her feet planted and then she dies. It is a horrible thing. A horrible thing to imagine how easily that could be me.

It was for the best, I try to convince myself. Yes, Graece had to die if it would mean that our leaders will live. No mere citizen can walk away after committing such a crime like that, even if it was an "accident" as she called it. It can't possibly have been an accident or a mistake. Our leaders do not make mistakes. Nor must we, if we want to become the next generation of them. This is why they are so gracious as to have given us the fine opportunity to put our learnings into practice and help them with their wonderful work. Yes, this is why it must have happened. It was for the best.

All the same, every time I slip into unconsciousness in the darkness, I am almost instantly pulled back to reality by the haunting visions. Her glazed eyes will not leave me. Her hands around her own throat seem to have locked around my own, though I am alone and she is gone. I'm safe. They keep us safe. They protect us.

Just like how they protected Graece, an eerie whisper comes.

They did protect her. They protected her from her own self-destruction, guided the rest of us back like a shepherd leading their sheep, leading them to greener pastures. It was not unwarranted, because she had brought it upon herself. She did this, not them. They were only doing what was best for us all. And I have more important things to think about than that. I must rest if I want to be prepared and ready to find out who will be the mentor that I will be accompanying soon. Maybe I can will myself to sleep if I simply try hard enough. So I lie there, frozen and stiff like a statue.

I feel restless, with that tingling, itching sensation to move around. Every time I attempt to close my eyes and shut out the world, my mind stirs up images of all the executions and trials I've watched over the years, each one playing in its full length, until I am trembling again.

You will be fine, I tell myself. So long as I make sure that I do not step out of line like they did and serve a purpose greater than myself – greater than all of us – and be the best of them all, I will be fine. Surely I have done enough to redeem myself, haven't I? I've been working for them ever since I could understand how they helped us. It's only fair if I return the favor, one that is not possible to repay because of its enormity, to them and give myself up for their cause.

I remember my grandparents, broken and shaky from their past, but still determined to make it up to the Imperium. I have only ever met them three times. Once when I was first born, when my parents took me to see them, although that was an occasion which I do not remember. The second time, in my first year at my current school, Obsequor Institution, four years ago. I had gotten in only by being one of their most devoted citizens and getting a full scholarship to it, one of the most prestigious schools there was. Only the richest and the children of the most important will go. It was such an honor to be granted this, and they had come to visit to wish me a congratulations. I could see it in their faces, how pleased they were. They kept telling me, over and over, how proud of me they were. And the whole time, I was simply glowing with the accomplishment, for I saw my own joy reflected in theirs. The last time, and the last time I had ever seen them, was only a few weeks before they died. They had chosen to come out of retirement to serve the Imperium for longer, until the end of their lives, because, after all, it was the very least we could all do to help them. They wanted to patrol and police our city, and despite my mother's desperate pleading to get them to instead work in some less dangerous department, if they were this passionate about it.

"What's life without a little risk?" my grandfather had asked, pairing it with a light laugh. "The Imperium needs us there, and it's our responsibility to answer their call." My grandmother had nodded at this, adding that they would be safe, because the Imperium would protect them. And if they did indeed pass away, it would not be for nothing. It was of the highest distinction that they would have died in the line of duty, and no one would ever forget their sacrifice. That shut my mother up pretty quickly.

How ironic is it that two people who were convinced that they would be completely safe were killed by a band of rebels not even a month into the arrangement? Two and a half weeks after the argument, we received a knock at the door, only to find a man dressed in all white, the shade of the uniform symbolizing purity, with a solemn look on his face. Instantly, I assumed the worst. So it didn't come as any surprise when he gave his condolences to us and explained what had happened.

Needless to say, the rebels involved in the attack were executed themselves as soon as they were tracked down, along with their families. People need to know how it feels to be punished for doing wrong, or else they will do it again and again. They died painful deaths, as they should for a crime like that. They were tortured for rebel information and eventually killed on television for a full forty-eight hours, and they were bleeding and mutilated with cuts that scarred their bodies in what must have been hundreds of marks where weapons had clearly dug past the first layers of skin. We watched them in their entirety, filled with fury. I never learned the name of the one who had been to blame for initiating the fight against my grandparents. The rest of the troops arrived too late to stop what was happening to their soldiers, and by the time that they came, there was little more that could be done but to seize the stragglers who were not fast enough to escape them. The others were rounded up quickly enough, though.

The officer, who had been the leader of my grandparents' troop, had come back again a few days later with a bottle containing ashes, telling us that it was something of them that we could hold onto, as the next days would be hard. I could tell what they were before he had explained it himself. It's strange to think that the remains of two people could be stored in such a small jar, reduced to mere particles from what they were. Also somewhat disturbing that someone would be comforted by the burned bits of another person they loved. That was three years ago. Their remnants sit on a shelf in my parents' room, collecting dust, to this day.

I wonder if that would ever be me.