The Ringing

Welcome to Hell

The Official tapped some numbers into her computer, and then she turned to me, her face somber, knowing what she has done. “Okay,” she said, quieter now, “Your Ringing has been activated. Expect to hear it in the next twenty-four hours.”

            “Thank you,” I whispered, and I walked away. The corridor seemed longer than it had before, and the sun seemed to mock me as it shone on my head on the long walk home. My stomach was in knots. I had just let myself become a slave to the Empire-I would now have to work for them. Forever. But I needed to. I could not let Hector slowly die in there alone, I wouldn’t let him work long hours and be Changed by the Officials. I pictured his dark brown, curly hair, covered in grease and dirt, his tall stature bent over from exhaustion, his hazel eyes red from sleepless, nightmare-filled nights. He was my brother. I couldn’t let that happen. Not without me, at least. I would save him, we could talk and spend our days together. We would not have to suffer alone. And when we finally died, our dead bodies thrown into the incinerator by an emotionless Guard, our parents never notified, at least we had not suffered. We would have made it through the worse. Together.

            I fell into my bed, but I did not sleep. I just waited, I waited there under my covers, waiting for the noise to come and take me away. I didn’t need sleep, food, or water anymore. I was like a robot, emotionless, just wanting to make it to my brother and save him. Nothing else mattered. I wouldn’t even say goodbye to my parents when I left the house. It would just bring them more suffering. Sure, they would find out eventually that I had received the Ringing, that I had asked for it myself, but I would be long gone by then. They were already mourning-one more wouldn’t make much difference. They would get over us, maybe even have more children, as the Ringed Children Clause allowed them to, and they would be fine. But I still left my book of pictures out on my metal desk, hoping they would find it and be able to never forget, to move on but never forget.

            I tried to stay awake, but my covers were too warm, too binding. I fell into the cradle of sleep, but it was not as calm as before. I tossed and turned, my eyes fluttering before closing again. Yet I didn’t dream. I woke up at 0400 and knew I couldn’t sleep longer, I needed to stay awake. I walked around my room, seeing everything I had once loved, all about to be lost from my world. I opened my circular window, the cool night breeze hitting my face in a cry of relief. I grabbed objects from every corner of my room-my toy dog I played with when I was in Primary School, my journal, even my birth certificate. And I threw them. I threw them out the window, into the community trash receptacle I knew was below. As I tossed them onto the pile of junk, I looked at them one last time, thought of all the memories I had with it, and then dropped it, letting it plunge down. I let all my memories go. It was time for a new start, a new era in my life. This one would be filled with pain and suffering, but it had to happen. Finally, my room was empty, excepting my steel desk, nightstand, and bed. I left my picture book on my desk and my alarm clock on the nightstand, for practical purposes.  I drew the tan covers over the white mattress, preparing it for whoever used this space next. They didn’t need to know about me, my story. And it wouldn’t help to give my parents a room of memories. I lay on my bed, waiting for it to happen. 0542, my alarm clock read. It would happen in the next three hours and ten minutes. I waited and waited and waiting. And then I turned my head to the clock-it read 0606. I sat up a little, to make sure I had read the strange time right, but as I did, my body fell. It locked into place, in a stiff lying down position on my bed. I was paralyzed, I couldn’t move a single muscle. My head ached like it never had before, and my eyes stung. I knew they were turning bright read.

            And then I heard it.

            The Ringing was loud, louder than everything I had ever heard before combined.  My head ached, it felt like my ears would split. The noise was a high pitched, droning noise, sounding like metal hitting metal. Yet it didn’t sound like someone was striking something with a metal bar, over and over-it was consistent, like one, long and drawn out strike of the bar. It was relentless, the terrible noise. The birds I had heard, crowing a couple minutes before, seemed nonexistent.  I lived in the moment, only focusing on this terrible noise, which was hitting my ears, over and over, never giving up, never stopping. My ears burned, my head shook, even my eyes felt like they were about to explode. I was in more pain then I had ever been in my life, yet I couldn’t move. My eyes watered, but there was nothing to do to stop them. I was useless, hopeless. My brain shuddered, as through the noise, that one section of my brain nagged me with the question I hated- Had I really made the right decision?