Un

I wasn't the first to step forward. I wasn't the second either. I waited. I did as I was told. And blood is on my hands because of it. But what could I do? I knew if I were first, standing alone, saying no, I would be hurt or maybe killed. No, probably not killed. We are too valuable to them. But maimed, maimed is okay. There are so many parts of us that are nonessential. But, maimed and relocated and what would it matter? I'd be among strangers again. True believers or just truly terrified, we'd have no way of knowing about each other.

Together we were stronger though. Refusing together. There was strength in this little victory. We'd have to learn to get by on our little victories. 

Guilt has consumed me these weeks. Months? I saw them, the people attending meetings and protests and writing letters of outrage. But, I'd thought, those actions were for other people. People who weren't busy, who didn't have lives to lead. Still, I imagined myself as the heroine of my own story. If the big bad something ever came, surely I'd be the hero leading the masses?

But here we were. Outcast from society. Their society anyway. We had no use to them, in the pretty little picture they'd created. But the picture was flimsy and worn. We knew it was false. And still, we envied them their clean air and manicured streets. They found a use for us yet, though, we were able bodied and thus, perfectly suited to dispose of the rest. 

We needed guns to our backs for this work at first. And awful work though it was, we did as we were told in our belief that staying alive was the most important thing. That staying alive would bring us back to our families, bring an end to the madness. But after this much exposure, what good would it be to stay alive? After this much horror, the risk was greater in losing our souls to their side, in identifying as part of the machine. Later, we didn't need guns. We had routine.

We didn't plan it. We couldn't have. But one day they delivered to us a young one. She was perfect and she was delicate and she looked up at us with shining gray eyes. They said she was "un" and should be delivered with the rest. I looked up and met his eyes, then hers, and I can't know if their thoughts mirrored mine but I believe we all knew this time would be different. The buses would never reach their destination.

One bus driver can be shot. One bus destroyed. But a caravan? They weren't prepared. They never expected we'd disobey. We found an abandoned apartment building. We grew and scavenged food. We made a home for the "un" and the "dis" - "disloyal" and "disgraceful." We cared for the no-longer-un and, after a time, it was easier for them to let us.