Bound

Taken

They’ll be here any minute now with their guns raised and handcuffs at the ready

They will drag me away, taking long purposeful strides as they do so, my lifeless body crumpled on the floor, stuffed into their detainment vehicles with disgust. No, I’m not being murdered, not just yet. They have other plans for me, sinister plans that will take away my free will and abolish what little rights I have.

Sometimes I think it would be easier, for them to place a bullet in my head, then I’d really be lifeless a body amongst all the others, another death at the hands of this country. But I can’t hope for such things, not even the relief of death. Who would take care of my family? Who would preserve them? There is nobody else but me, I must be the one sacrificed if they are to have any sort of life, I must be the one dragged away but I won’t be kicking and screaming. I chose this out of the three choices we were given; me, my brother or my sister. And although nobody said a word when the letter came the silence was enough for me to know that for me, there was never any other choice but this one

I tried not to cry, I really did. But somehow the tears had managed to slip down my cheeks and before I knew what was happening I had broken out into uncontrollable sobs claiming my breaths and constricting my chest. I had left the small cramped kitchen before anyone could see, abandoning my bowl of watered down grey oats which I so seldom did, and it was enough to show my family I was upset. I had not composed myself enough; I had hastily thrown on the mask of nothingness and because of my careless actions the masks was breaking revealing the raw emotion within.

I hated myself for it, for allowing that white crisp of paper break down the walls I had been building for so long. I had fortunately ran out before the sobs really began to become painful, what my family had seen was a glimpse but a glimpse was enough to send them spiralling into despair to.

They would have been in despair either way however, even if I hadn’t cried the knowledge was still there, in fact it will never go away, two years on from the last time we received that letter and my family are still trying to pick up the pieces.

I stand up from the bed I was sitting on, from the bed I share with Mara and walk away from the bedroom us children are condemned to. My feet make impressions in the rotted wood and as I walk creaks echo and moan around our small home. I am painfully aware this may be the last time I see the bedroom again but I don’t want them to find me in here and drag me away, tainting all the close to happy moments I have had. I cannot allow them to be that cruel. it isn’t just for my sake but for Maras and Jethrows to, every time they would come in here they would think of me being taken, just like every time I walk into the living room I think of them taking her.

And of course exiting our bedroom leads me into the one place that I can’t stand to be in. The small space packed with the sofa spilling out stuffing and the rusted projector that comes to life only for news and propaganda, are the only things filling the gaps. And even then, with those two items it’s still a struggle to move around and fit especially in a family of five.

There used to be a willow tree outside, its leaves draped in a conflicting veil of beauty, in the spring it would be a lush green and in autumn different shades of orange and red. We were lucky enough to live close to it and the light that would reach our home was filtered through the branches.

They cut it down though, probably to make more development.

There is always development here stripping away what’s beautiful and replacing it with something to keep our swelling population at bay. Even the sky has been taken away. I was once told it used to be a startling blue but then the factories became too much, chugging smoke out clouding our air layering everything with an unpleasant chemical smell. The sky became addicted to the chemicals, taking long drags of its grey essence and now it resides grey, beige and occasionally a yellow when the sun manages to penetrate the layers of vapour. Perhaps long ago when the factories were starting to be built the people could have protested, could have stopped the frequent concrete blocks that make our section ugly.