Freakshow

You Can't Fail a Soul Test

Hatchet spun around in her chair, then shuffled through a pile of notebooks. With a dissatisfied grumble, she rolled her seat across the patchwork of rugs and plucked a copy of The Book of Death from the floor.

She rolled back over to where I was seated and opened the Book, flicking through yellow pages until she found a scrap of paper. Lined paper, like we used in schools, crumbled and torn in one corner, with blue ink scrawled in sloppy handwriting.

She tightened her scrunchie with one hand and smoothed the paper with the other. "I'm gonna ask you some questions. Answer with the first thing that comes to mind. Be completely honest with me."

I nodded and took a breath. "Okay."

"Why have you come here?"

I thought for a moment. She was asking my reasons for joining up, I assumed, but I wasn't quite sure what kind of answer she was looking for. I doubted she wanted to hear my pathetic sob story.

"My grandmother died for what she believed in. I want to honor her."

"Is that all?"

"Well... Well no, but..."

Hatchet reached out a hand and lifted my head higher. "Look me in the eyes, damnit. Tell me every little thing you can think of. In fact, don't think. Answer on instinct. So tell me, why are you here?"

I swallowed and collected myself before replying.

"I've heard what this nation used to be like, when it was free... but now we're stuck in a pit of injustice. I've seen too many people executed in the streets. I've heard too many screams at night.... My whole life I've been choking under oppression. It... it scares me to death, and I hate it."

"Who are you?"

"I, um, don't really know yet."

"How long have you waited?"

"I first read the Book at age twelve, if that's what you mean."

"What do you think about history?"

That time I paused again, unsure how to answer. I'd grown up being reminded of history, and reprimanded for forgetting it. I could still remember bedtime stories about the Renaissance and avoiding rats... well, like the plague, when I'd first heard about the Bubonic Plague. 

I remembered something I'd been told once, that I'd never forgotten. Part of me wanted to believe it was my Grandfather, but he died when I was four, so I wasn't quite sure.

"Those who listen to their history are least likely to repeat it."

"And what do you think about yourself?"

"Plenty of room for improvement."

"And one last question. Are you willing to be a freedom fighter?"

I drummed my fingers against my thigh, considering, and yet knowing the answer in my gut. "Well... I've been called a lot of things in my life, and a freedom fighter has never been one of them. I think it's about time I changed that."

"Damn right it is. Go to the basement. I'll come and get you when I'm ready."

I stood stiff, nervous, not knowing what the hell to think about any of this. Had I said anything stupid? Anything wrong? If I wasn't accepted... I had no where to go. Dad would  be pissed and then he'd drink more than usual and I'd be stuck gnawing at an apple core from the trash or eating nothing at all.

I found my way to the stairs and the spiral downwards was a monochrome blur. I heard the voices and the music growing louder and my stomach churned harder. I walked into the basement.