The Parables

Blake - Precinct Three

Blake - Precinct Three

Crouching down between the towering cornstalks, I uproot a bunch of weeds. Dropping them into my basket, I stand up and search for more. The fields are unusually quiet today, even though dozens of people are working, like usual, under the watchful eye of the sentries, like usual. But today isn't usual.

Yanking at another patch of weed, I toss them into the basket with the others. Every day I'm wishing I had a better job. If I were in another Precinct, I'd  be at school, but school finishes when you're eleven in Precinct Three. When your education ends, you're forced into Field Labour, which is one section of Precinct Three's harvest industry. We grow the food, pick the food and ship the food to Precinct Nine for it to be sorted into the different food categories.

However, Field Labour is only about picking the weeds or other growing pests that aren't wanted. It's back-aching, shoulder-aching and limb-aching stuff. As much as it kills, we still get a good pay for doing it, which helps to feed our families. The adults do the harder jobs, and I can't imagine how much that hurts. They have to harvest the food, which includes everything from sowing the seeds to threshing and harvesting the produce.

Suddenly, I hear raised voices. Raising my head, I catch sight of Marx arguing with a nearby sentry. I roll my eyes and continue to work. Marx is always getting into disagreements with the sentries. He likes having his own opinion presented to anybody who cares to listen, but the minority that does listen does not include me. I'm not Marx's biggest fan. When we were younger and naive and knew no better, I dared him to climb the tallest tree in all of Precinct Three. He got halfway before falling off and breaking his arm. He never forgave me, although I could tell he was secretly pleased with the break because he got out of doing the chores for six weeks.

"Psst."

Glancing up, I see Pru, looking at me with a panicked expression on her face. Frowning, I check to see that no one is watching before leaving my work and crawling over to her. Fortunately for me, the cornstalks are tall enough to mask my movements, acting as my cloak of invisibility.

"What's up?" I ask her. Pru is only twelve. She's the oldest of a family of four kids and the only one with a job, therefore she's working to exhaustion every day just to feed her younger siblings.

She lifts up her sleeve and my eyes widen in horror. Crimson blood oozes out of a gash along her wrist, creating a scarlet river which trickles down her arm towards her elbow and splashes onto the ground in red raindrops.

"How did you do that?" I ask her softly, tearing a strip of my shirt off and pressing it down against the gash. Pru grimaces.

"I tripped and landed on a knife," she replies through gritted teeth. "I don't know what it was doing there. I think someone might've dropped it."

"Where is it?" I query, tightly wrapping the rag of cotton around her wrist. A moment later, the rag of my clean shirt has turned the colour of plums.

"Over there." Pru points behind her. "Thank you, Blake."

"Anytime, kiddo," I reply, grinning.

Standing up, I walk over to where the knife is, ducking my head to remain unseen. It's long and thin and speckled with droplets of Pru's blood. Bending down, I pick it up and examine it. All of a sudden, something clicks in my mind and I instantly recognise it, covering my mouth with my hand to stop myself from gasping out loud. Clenching the knife in my hand, I jog back to Pru.

When she sees me coming, she frowns. "What is it?"

"It's Carter's"

Carter Bridge was arguably the best harvester we had. That was until yesterday when his brains were blown out from the impact of a tiny ball of metal. He had been deemed a thief, and stealing from your industry is punishable by death. According to the people working near him, a couple of cobs of corn were found in his rucksack by sentries who had been tipped off by some anonymous worker.