Against The Odds

Chapter 1 - Creativity

On nights like these, I often find myself envisioning us as a herd of cattle being raised for slaughter. The other boys are long gone at this point; no one else would dare to be awake at this late hour. Even so, I stare at the parallel boards that support the bunk above me and question the meaning of life. I wonder if we have any purpose greater than what the government tells us to do. Surely we can become famous for our own determination, not for whatever quests the Adventure Assignment Committee sentences us to? Such thoughts would send me to slavery in an instant, making me feel guilty for ever doubting my life. Of course it's mine to live, and it's up to me to fulfill my adventure when the time comes.

A sudden, loud snore from Isaac, my bunk mate, makes me jump. Why do I feel so secretive? The other boys must've had thoughts like mine, as well. I know I can't be the only one. We've all grown up in the same environment, so it only seems natural to be curious of whatever lies out there.

Images of what I would expect that world to look like start to paint themselves in my mind. Maybe if I wake up early enough, I'll be able to draw them out in the sketchbook I made myself. It took me ages to soak old sheets of newspaper again and again, smearing the ink until it eventually bled off the page. My training knife sliced portions of the stiff paper into equivalent sizes. I cut part of the bottom leg of an old pair of my pants and used that as a cover. The sap from a nearby maple tree provided glue to hold the pages together and attach them to the cover, but just to be safe, I had bound the closed edge with a thin shoelace from an outgrown shoe that I had lost the match to. I hadn't told anyone, but one day after class, I had stolen a single pencil to draw with. The teachers hadn't noticed, so I never brought it up.

It was a painstakingly long process, but in the end, it was all worth it. I loved capturing the world, scaled down to fit the confines of a tiny canvas. If only I could share that passion with the rest of the boys within my age group. I didn't show the book to a single person for the fear that they would rat me out for showing signs of too much curiosity. The last boy who had gotten told on was taken away. Government security troopers stormed our barracks, B15, in the middle of the night, seized the boy in question, and dragged him out without a word. I never saw him again or heard anything about him. I doubt I ever will. Crazy to believe that was only months ago, and the same could happen to me if I'm not careful.

That boy, the one the security officers stole, always used to speak these outrageous tales of democracy, huge families with more than one child, and love. He told us stories about how parents actually raised their own children instead of the government doing it for them. They nurtured them, taught them right from wrong, and encouraged them through every mistake. I personally don't know my parents. The only way I ever will get to meet them is if I complete my given adventure and survive the extreme conditions outside of the safety of Virtutis Terra. I almost wish I knew something about them, anything, instead of feeling so distant and out casted. None of the boys in my cabin have ever mentioned their parents before. I just assumed I should do the same.

It wasn't long after the captive boy, Gavin I think his name was, started spewing such far-fetched ideas that he was withdrawn. Nobody questioned it, but I think the events are somehow related. Gavin was sparking something in all of us, and it was clear to see; all the boys who heard Gavin's stories got this twinkle in their eyes. They gained this confidence, and everyone truly believed that they could make a difference and they had a purpose in this world. I was among the inspired. After our leader disappeared, the fire that was burning in us died. I watched my cabin members return to the gloomy days of learning, the teachers drilling the importance of bravery into our minds. What we needed was action, a chance to put that courage to use. I never let go of my burning candle, though; Gavin's match had lit my flame, and I wasn't going to let it burn out.