Exiled

ONE

I sigh in the overwhelming afternoon heat. It can get so hot here sometimes that I forget I am grounded to the Earth. I imagine myself circling the sun, or the outer layers of hell, hypnotized and drawn into the suffocating heat.

I'm still not sure which one this feels the closest to.

My best friend lays stretched across the soft red clay next to me. He is all muscle and callous from too many years laboring the land. I smile to myself when I glance at him. His worn and tattered hat is tipped precariously over his eyes and his chest rises and falls slowly-he must be asleep.

I shake my head giggling inwardly and focus my thoughts back to the bright blue afternoon sky. The sun is high in the sky, standing proud and unshakeable, delighted to have taken its rightful place in the sky. I imagine a whimsical battle unraveling before me between the sun and moon, neither willing to succumb to the other, but both bound to rise and fall in tangent together.

Both unwillingly bound to each other for eternity.

I am lost in thought, of nothing and everything. I always feel so small when surrounded by the magic of lying on the creek side, the shadows of tree leaves dancing across the ground and across my face, oblivious to their intrusions. The lyrical lapping of flowing water against rocks and wood lulls me into a blissful state of existence, and the world suddenly falls away from me.

I wonder about things like how life was before things changed, how life could have been for me, and what is out there now.

In just three days, my entire world will change.

They call it the Relegation.

Each September, everyone who has reached the age of eighteen during the given year is cast out of our only home.

Forcefully exiled from Roan Oaks.

They say it's to prove our worth, to teach us to be valuable men and women, and to contribute to the growth of our community.

I don't know if I truly agree.

For the past year of my short life, I have spent countless days in a tiny classroom, no longer learning useless facts and skills of the fallen world but instead learning survival skills.

I'm not all that great at it, quite frankly, but what choice do I have?

I have poured every ounce of my being into learning how to make it back home in one piece.

My parents deserve at least one child to return home from Relegation.

See, each year, I have watched the Relegation Ceremony. As far back as I can remember, even as a small child clinging to my father's leg wide-eyed in awe of their bravery, I watched as they marched through the gates without looking back.

Each year, a handful go through the mammoth steel gates. Sometimes only a fraction of them return. Those that make it back are changed, wild eyed and hardened with unspeakable experiences.

They become men and women, loyal to maintaining our community, and devoted to never going through those gates ever again.

"That serious?" I hear him rise, pushing himself lazily off the red clay that cradled him.

He pulls his hat off and brown hair falls lazily over his deep green eyes, one eyebrow raised at me curiously. He runs his hand through his unruly hair before replacing his old hat back on his head.

I grin, reach over, and smack him hard in the side. He laughs, a small snort escaping his lips, and smiles. As usual he is unfazed by my assault and I know my feeble attempt at pain infliction was in vain, but hey at least I tried.