AVA

1

 

  Time is no longer relevant; not much is lately. At night I normally just sit in my bed and wander where the time has gone. The company that comes to me in the darkness is the alert alarm, just incase another planet tries to attack us. 

I look at myself in the mirror, my red hair acuminating the night. The green eyes that stare back at me belong to someone centuries old, not of the age eighteen. As I put on the boring black denim that was our uniform I realized there was a large rip above my knee.

Another pair to throw away.

As everyone began to exit, I saw Troy. My brother. I kneed him in the back and left him behind. Just as we were raised to do.

A series of hallways later, and the crowd became considerably smaller. For obvious reasons, as everyone was gathering for the stairwell. The stairwell was large and narrow, as only two people could go down at a time. When it was finally my turn to go down, a foot brought my body crashing down.

Further and further down the stairs.

The whiplash almost takes away my breath, before I realize I am swallowing my own blood. I whip my upper lip and continue on to the bunker room.

We must all wait in the line that only becomes longer and longer, as the scanning process is time consuming, but accurate. Sooner or later its blue light is viewing my iris, and I am allowed in the large room.

As I sit on the floor, Troy comes to congratulate me.

“I did an okay job, don’t you think?” He asks, pointing my wound. I smile and respond with a nod and, “Seems I got you pretty good too.” I said, pointing to his identical lip wound.

We begin to sink into silence, and I know what is about. Tomorrow I go through my Spring Cleaning. Even though it is in the middle of deep winter. Spring Cleaning means that every child of eighteen must kill a diplomat of another planet.

I assume it was once to show Earth’s strength, but now it is like a sport. Troy did his spring cleaning two years ago on Venus. I am preparing for that same journey.

I have only heard rumor of what these people look like. Strange ears and noses for the toxic air that they breathe; and three feet taller than the average male.

I am most interested of what I have heard of the marks on their skin. Strange symbols that most of us would not care for, but so unnatural they must be mentioned in stories.

The sirens snap me out of my dreams and nightmares. As I slip into a different one. When I was younger the sirens would terrify me into crying into Troy’s shoulder and soon being pushed away. No one knows what they mean, and no one knows what they should mean. It is as simple as that, because we do not, can not, ask questions.

“So, Jemma, are you excited for your Spring Cleaning?” Troy asked me, breaking the silence. I wanted to say that I was excited and terrified at the same time, but fear was the option. As he would also get me for it later.

“I can’t wait.” I simply say, as it would not lead to further questioning by anyone. Lying is forbidden.  That is how our parents died. Or well our mother. She didn’t kill her diplomat, he killed himself. She could only entrust this information in one person. Her husband, who ended up betraying her, my mother was killed for lying, my father was killed for telling the truth.