In a nightmare world ravaged by misery, the Imperium offers utopia to a select few. When Arya and Everett are recruited into this elite society, they choose to leave their homes against their families' wishes.
Naive and young, Arya and Everett are...
The sharp blades of the shears glint in the golden sun rays as I trim the bush, one stray leaf at a time. After what feels like an hour of work, one end of my row of bushes looks almost as perfect as the ones trimmed by the citizens.
I stop to take a sip from the canteen hooked to my suit, but when the sweet, clean taste of the water registers on my tongue, I can't stop myself from draining the rest in big, self-indulgent gulps.
Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I turn to my left and call to Everett. He is preoccupied with the hedges, his teeth clamped over his lower lip in concentration.
"This water tastes amazing," I tell him when he looks up. "Like nothing you've ever had before."
Everett grabs his canteen and raises it to his lips, his eyes widening.
"Whoa, it's so . . . clean," he grins a moment later, nodding appreciatively. I smile back, my eyes flitting wistfully to the now-empty container in my hands. Everett catches my line of sight and holds his bottle out to me. "You can have mine."
"Oh! No, no," I say quickly, a strange, warm feeling tugging at my chest. "But thanks."
Everett and I return to work, spending a long time in silence until he finally leans over and mumbles, "We've been here for five years."
"Huh?" I freeze mid-snip, my shears hanging open over a small section of flowers.
"The Foreman," Everett says with unmistakable distaste. "He said the Chip was working for five years. We're twenty-one now."
As his words sink in, the delicious after-taste of the water disappears, leaving my mouth feeling dry. Without meaning to, I tighten my grip on the shears and end up severing a few flowers.
"Careful!" Everett says, alarmed.
I withdraw my hands quickly, but the damage is done. Several dozen petals cascade to the ground and lodge themselves between blades of grass. I stare at the pale pink petals for several moments, speechlessly searching my mind for all the time that has passed and finding nothing.
"Sorry," I say finally, my stomach churning unpleasantly as new questions form in my mind. "Everett, do you think the Resistance still exists? A-and your father and mine are okay?"
"I . . . I don't know," he shakes his head, sounding just as lost as I feel. "I don't know."
▲
We are forced to tend to the bushes until the sun sets completely. Just as the last traces of daylight surrender to darkness, long tubes of white light emerge from the green fence looming behind Everett.
Suddenly, a series of short pings echoes through the garden and immediately, the citizens stop working. They form a single line and start towards the arch of white flowers.
I glance at the spot where I had accidentally snipped the pale pink blooms. Frowning at the unsightly dent in the shrub, I join the line and make sure that Everett is following. Mimicking the citizens, we surrender our shears and empty canteens into two different bins before stepping through the arch again. I make sure to touch my wrist to the screen, eager to not trigger the unpleasant siren again.
Everett and I follow the citizens, reduced to uncomfortable silence by our combined exhaustion and muddled thoughts about our families. We walk through the spotless, identical pathways for a long time before citizens break off into groups and turn into different streets.
In front of each street is a well-lit signboard with numbers printed in simple black writing. The board to my immediate right says "001-200" while the ones behind it read "201-400", "401-600", "601-800", and finally, "801-1000".
"F930 and M929," I mumble, turning to Everett questioningly. "Maybe ours is the last lane."
"Maybe," he agrees, falling in step with me as we follow the citizens turning into the last street in the row.
As I walk down the street flanked by rows of tiny yellow lights and purple blooms, my attention falls on a grey building with a large white door. The citizens in front of me enter the building, some of them shooting distrustful looks at us over their shoulders before doing so. There's a sleek silver monitor, similar to the one in the garden.
Once inside, it doesn't take too long to climb a set of stairs and find a door marked F930 along the right side of a dimly-lit, plain-looking hallway. Right across from my door is one marked M929. The sight of it gives me a small pang of comfort, knowing that he's not too far away.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he says. He walks up to his door and tentatively presses his wrist against a blinking red light in the center. The light turns green and the door falls open.
I struggle to suppress the fear of being alone for the first time since I woke up strapped to a bed next to Everett. Finally, I unlock the door marked F930 and manage to say, "See you."
Everett nods reassuringly, waiting for me to step into my room before he walks into his. A second later, my door seals shut with an ominous thud, plunging me into darkness for three gut-wrenching seconds before the ceiling glows with soft yellow lights. Leaning back against the door, I let my eyes roam the small space around me, finding only an array of large white panels on two sides of a wall and nothing in between.
Suddenly, a section of panels starts to shift, revealing a glass cubicle and lavatory. A hissing sound fills the air and water pours from the ceiling, coating the glass ceiling and three walls with steam. Slowly stepping out of my suit, I drop it into an open chute beside the cubicle and position myself under the cascade of warm water. It soothes my sore limbs but doesn't last any longer than a minute.
With a disappointed sigh, I watch as the drops of water drain away, flinching when a mildly fragrant gas rains down on my body without warning. I keep my eyes shut and lips pursed until the gas eventually clears up. In the next two minutes, the glass cubicle disappears into the wall and the panels along the left rearrange themselves to form a narrow bed. Standing next to it is a small table with a canteen of water and a neatly folded suit.
I'm walking towards the bed when the lights go out again, forcing me to fumble in the dark as I pull on the suit and climb into bed. My breathing — ragged and uneven — is the only sound that interrupts the eerie silence, but I soon fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Shoutout to WORLDCRY for making the beautiful cover of this story! :)
UCS has hit 1K reads! Thank you so much for reading and showing your support. x
Please vote/comment and add this story to your library and your reading list to be notified about updates.
