Exiled

ONE

Not much of a motivator, you bumbling fool. I think to myself as I watch the commotion around me that always accompanies a Relegation.

I chose a spot tucked strategically away from the crowd of family members, leaning impatiently against an old wooden post. Today I have patrol, which includes monitoring those who came to watch the Relegation ceremony. The area is abuzz with chatter and cheers as most of the community is here to wish the five Relegates a safe journey. As I scan the crowd, my gun strap slips from my shoulder burning the skin on my upper arm as the worn nylon rips down my arm. I shrug my shoulder annoyingly as I push it back up, my body already rigid with an unusual amount of tension today.

My mind cycles through the events of last night. The memory of the burn from her touch rips through my body as strong as it did in that heated moment on the sparring mat. I cross my arms and breathe in deeply, clenching my jaw in an attempt to subdue the beast of desire growling with me. I scan the group of Relegates and her gaze meets mine.

What have you done to me? I think to myself.

Her body ever so slightly quivers as fear fills her eyes, her gaze never trailing from mine. My body stiffens defensively, a natural response these days, and I can feel my clenched jaw begin to ache from the extended pressure. I feel as though the entire world can see what is happening between us, but I know they are mindlessly oblivious to this minute moment.

I try desperately to imagine myself sending her my own strength and courage, as if it would flow like a river from my gaze and fill her soul with everything she needs to return safely. Her mouth twitches and curls ever so slightly at the corner and I can sense the growl of desire deep within my core fighting to break free.

She snaps her attention away and back towards the looming thick silver gates.

The slow deep creak of old rusted metal rumbles through the crowd as the gates swing open. The cheering and clapping from the crowd around me slows and is replaced by a thick cloud of silence.

The group of five Relegates step forward and walk slowly through the gates. I watch as her thin frame is swallowed by the darkness of uncertainty that is the world beyond my control. My mind swirls with unfamiliar feelings—feelings that make me weak—that make me vulnerable.

I cannot be either of these.

" Shows over folks." I mumble as I reluctantly resume my job for the day and begin ushering the crowd away from the gates. A low drawn-out creak fills the air as the gates draw to a close.

I imagine she is still here, safe within the confines of the community, and I find myself unable to turn around and look at the gates as I hear them shudder to a stop. The heavy metallic thud of the lock securing that follows feels like a punch in the gut.

I feel a hand rest swiftly on my shoulder and my whole-body tenses abruptly. I glance behind me and am met by William's concerned eyes.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you do David," he says solemnly. "After we lost Hud, I never thought May would live through this day." His eyes drift and settle just beyond me as he talks, his words hanging heavy over us. I follow his gaze and see Maybelle chatting meekly with two other ladies, her shaky hands taking turns wiping the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

"It's my job sir." I mumble stoically, unable to find any words of sympathy to share with him. Words of sympathy would show weakness, something which I cannot afford. "I want each Relegate to be as prepared as he or she can possibly be sir. Dallas was an excellent student." I pass a glance back at him and his face is stoic as well, hardened from his years of hardship and pain.

He pats my shoulder and bobs his head with a stern nod, his eyes never wandering beyond his wife. With that, his hand drops, and he walks off silently to join her. I suck in a deep breath, hoping for a momentary relief from the tension consuming my entire body.

I shift my weight uncomfortably in an effort to loosen up and reground myself here in the now.

I walk along the fence as I resume my patrol, the gates and the dreariness they carry fading into the distance behind me. I cannot be suspicious for what I have haphazardly planned. I stretch my hand out and run my fingers along the fence as I walk. The metal shudders and emits a dull protesting rattle as I walk. I glace around intermittently as I proceed down the path, forcing myself to remain inconspicuous.

My eyes wander down and I focus on the ground briefly. The grass is worn down along my route, but I can see the occasional springy blade bravely taking a chance and growing upward and away from the flattened blades around it, defiant of their place just like me.

I check my watch. Eleven o'clock. They've been gone twenty minutes.

My thoughts selectively toss and fold in on themselves as I review my plan in my head over and over again.

The mindless walk of my patrol became the perfect cover for my ill concocted plan, a plan which could carry a harsher penalty than I'd like to consider in this moment.

I check my watch again as I approach a strategic break in the fence.

I've contemplated repairing it over the years, but the survivor within me never could do it.

Eleven ten.

I reach down and pull a black backpack from underneath the brush to my right, give a quick glance around, and slip silently through the break without a second thought.