Survival (ON HOLD)

c h a p t e r o n e

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break." 

-William Shakespeare 

Oh, I must introduce myself, shouldn't I? So rude of me. My name is Alice Colere. I'm 16, and one of the Urbanus Class in our Society.

 It's mandatory for us to introduce ourselves with our class, or you are held and questioned about it. If you do not mention your class, it means you're a solitarius. Outcast. Lonely. A loner. Something we all would not want to be. 

Being an Urbanus; we have our privileges.  Like being respected and being given time on a family member's death. Something which I don't need. 

Adults mock us. For being stoic. They call us the 'new cold-hearted generation', but we don't care. We've grown up seeing this. We have no hearts. 

The police come and collect my mother's body, while I stare at her. Her eyes are wide open, with a weird expression on her face. That's fishy, trust me, as it's not because of the expression of pain. It's of surprise. 

A hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to face Elias. He must have heard my scream. We can even recognise each other's breath. 

His expression is all that I need. Understanding, not pitiful. His platinum blonde hair is pushed back, his eyes wide. I turn back to the officials, who are carrying my mother's body and drop it in front of me. They eye me expectantly.  I know what I have to do. I've had practice.

I stare into my mother's closed eyes, and carefully cross her arms over her chest. They've gone icy cold. I clutch them for a second, wanting to be with her for the last time before they take her into a private cemetery. No one except the verified is allowed there. 

You need to undergo four years of training to become a cemetery keeper. It's one of the hardest jobs out there.

You ask why? 

Human body starts to degrade within five hours of death. It releases such gases which are enough to kill anyone breathing it within a minute. The same gas which killed my mother. It's a death cycle.

Before you assume that these people are old aged and all, remember. Our lifespan is not long. The eldest one alive, after my Grandmother, was my mother. Now? It's Elias' parents.

Yes, we may sound like the 'Royal' class, but as I said, we're the Urbanus. And in this class, we've always had the upper hand. With Grandmother being the eldest. With Mother being the second eldest. Not anymore.

Elias'  soft, deep voice reaches my ears like a song.

"Ali, we need to go."

I nod and stand up, gripping Elias' hand in mine, and feeling the reassuring squeeze of his hands on mine.

We walk through the street, our eyes downcast. Everyone else here minds their own business, but it's evident that the news has spread. Of course, it has. My Mother and I had just gone running down theses streets a moment ago.

We don't follow the officials to the cemetery, but instead, we go to our own spot. The street corner running to our previous school. The place where we used to run and hide. From everyone. From the Rudibus, the lower class ones. Not that we hate them; it's just that they are just so careless with themselves that it's a surprise if one of them don't die every week. It's cringeworthy.

"Now what?" I choke out. Sharp.

"Now, we just sit and forget," comes the reply. Soft.

"Forget what? We've been facing this since we were toddlers," I say. Honest