Thriving in The Dark [(TDM) ENG]

V

My first week at camp was terrible. On the first morning, I was given a yellow uniform and my ID number, 4773. The PSFs took a picture of me the same day, along with all the other children who had arrived the day before. Apparently, they would use it to recognize me and bring me back to the camp in case I ever escaped.

Me and the other girls in my cabin were assigned to the garden for the entire week. We worked the soil during the six-hour morning shift and picked out vegetables during the five-hour afternoon shift. I had broken fingernails because of the heavy working routine and poor diet and chilblains on my hands because of the cold. Fortunately, since we were working outdoors, at least we were allowed to wear coats.

Between shifts, they would take us to the Mess Hall to quickly eat our meals, and then back to the cabins to rest. The food was terrible and the rations were very limited. Although only a week had passed, I had already lost weight, and working became more difficult each day. Whenever I returned to my cabin, it was almost impossible to sit on the bed without falling asleep.

The only good thing about the constant work was that it made me so exhausted that I didn't even have time to stop and think. Maybe that was their purpose: to make us tired and weak so we wouldn't even try to escape, or break the rules. 

They built an exhausting routine of wake up, work, eat, work, eat, sleep to make us helpless and, in their eyes, less scary. If anyone still found the strength to rebel and respond to the taunts of the PSFs, they would be punished. I had seen this happen a couple of times during my first week, and it was not uncommon to see kids handcuffed to light poles, without food or water, while I and the others were being walked from one side of the camp to the other.

However, it was rare for it to happen to Yellows, Reds, or Oranges. We were the least responsive. 

We knew that our punishments would always be ten times worse than those given to the non-dangerous kids, so we had to put up with everything that was done to us and be quiet. 

A girl from my cabin, Nadia, once told me about the time she accidentally crossed the gaze of one of the PSFs on duty and was locked in the isolation cells for the whole night, cold and alone. The soldier interpreted her gaze as a threat, an omen of attack, and had her immediately grounded. This would never have happened to a Green.

On the other hand, there were groups of Yellows and Reds constantly plotting escape plans. I could hear stories going around the camp about these fearless martyrs who preferred to sacrifice their lives rather than continue living in the camp. 

I didn't really believe those stories, at least not until I saw a group of three Reds running full speed toward the gate, pushing away anything or anyone that stood in their way. 

None of them ever reached the fence. I saw their bodies being lifted up and carried away in sacks by the PSFs, who seemed almost relieved to have less trouble to deal with.

I treasured the words the doctor had told me when I woke up in the infirmary the week before. I ignored the past and moved on, looking only straight ahead. 

The memories wouldn't hurt me if I left them behind, locked away in a box that I did not want to open. I learned to ignore what was going on around me. Empathizing or bonding too much with someone would have made me fragile and vulnerable. I had to become invisible and blend in among the other girls in order to survive.