Trench

Three

There were more Watchers now than he'd ever seen in one place before. There were at least a dozen in view, perched on the surrounding roofs, all watching him through the window. Tyler just glared back at them and finished buttoning up his shirt, the patch on his back in plain sight. He knew they'd have their beady eyes on him for a long time, especially since there was only one month until the next Annual Assemblage of the Glorified. 

They would force him to attend their twisted ritual. They promised one day he'd be one of the Glorified, receiving the highest honor, if only he would trust them. He had almost laughed in their faces. What glory? What honor? 

Even though he knew they would be watching him especially closely that night, he still planned on attempting to escape again during the ceremony. He knew they'd see, but he didn't care. There was no way to stay hidden, not anymore. Perhaps then he might inspire others to join him. To his knowledge, there was no one in the city like him. No one he'd ever seen wore the badge he did. 

Let them see. Let them come. 

What would they do to him if he was caught again? They were running out of ideas, and he knew it.

He glanced at the bed, where his coat was hidden under the mattress. They'd tried to take it from him, but he'd only stolen it back time and time again. They hoped he'd forget about his desires to leave Dema, but it was only a matter of time before he got out for good, and they knew it .

Besides, he'd figured it out. There was something they couldn't see. They couldn't take what they couldn't see. 

Tyler wanted to smile, but instead, he forced his lips to form a tight line. He still had to be careful. He had to at least try to convince them that he was really changing this time. They'd already smeared him twice - or at least, he thought they had. That had worked for a while, but eventually, he'd remembered - or rediscovered, more likely - the deep longing for something more. 

Now, they were trying solitary confinement. He wasn't permitted to leave his room for any reason. He had his skimpy meals brought to him twice a day, delivered while he was in the bathroom or asleep. He thought that perhaps they were trying to smother his ideas with isolation. Even if it didn't change him, they didn't want him communicating his disruptive and mutinous thoughts to the other inhabitants of Dema, especially the younger ones. 

Although he hated being alone with his thoughts, he had somehow managed to survive them for years, and he was determined this time to gain something out of it. They gave him plenty of time to think, and he planned to use it to come up with another escape.

But what if he couldn't escape? What if they got him for good, or resorted to violence and fear? He found himself back at the window, standing on his toes to try and catch a glimpse of the mountains beyond the walls. If he couldn't be out there, if they trapped him here forever, he'd climb to the top of the wall and jump. 

No. He shook his head wildly. Then they'd just Glorify him like the rest. They'd twist his story. He'd become a self-committed martyr for their cause. 

The dinner bell rang, startling him for a moment. He shook his head again to clear his thoughts and dropped his gaze down to the streets, where the lines of people were heading to the cafeteria. He spent most meal times here, watching the other inhabitants and hoping that one of them would look up. He'd only seen one other man like that, years ago. They'd talked for only a brief moment before they'd split up, and he'd never heard of him again. He couldn't quite remember his name or his face, and he wondered what had happened to him. Had he escaped? Had he been smeared? Or worse - had he been Glorified? Either way, he doubted he'd ever see the man again.

Even though Tyler was nearly certain no one would look up and see him, he still watched them, waiting for something of mild interest to happen. He needed to know if he was the only one. He had a horrible feeling that he was. 

How could they all be so blind? How could they stay here, mindlessly following pointless orders day after day? Years ago, more of them wanted to leave. More of them saw past the Bishops' lies and planned their escape. What had changed? How had the Bishops brainwashed them all so well?

There, towards the back of the group - there was a young man who walked almost strangely, as if he was lost. He raised his head just enough to see eye level at times, but tried to follow perfectly in line like the others. Tyler felt like a Watcher as he studied him. Even from up here, he could see his flickering eyes, and something stuffed hastily into his shirt pocket. 

It can't be.

Could it be another like him?

The young man's eyes flickered up and landed on Tyler, hovering there for the smallest of moments before dropping back down. The exchange lasted less than a split second, but Tyler knew the Watchers had seen it. If this man was planning his escape as well, he'd need to do it quickly, for now Tyler wasn't the only one who needed monitoring. 

Just keep going, Tyler thought, as if he could hear him. No matter what, I promise it's worth it out there. Just keep going, whoever you are.