Back When the Lights Shined

Chapter Eleven

War. This is what my life has come to. It’s almost hard to believe, now, that just two and a half months ago, at the start of winter, I believed in my country. I slept safely in my perfect bed, actually hoping to become another brainwashed zombie of this unfair government, also known as a Caretaker. Now, I have completely changed my beliefs, just as the seasons change their colors. Here I am, wearing this suit (which serves no protection for me at all) and defending something I was clueless of before. I was clueless about rebellion. I was the ideal citizen who did what the government told me to do. The government controlled everything, and I thought that was okay. I feel unworthy. I am not ready for this at all.

            But yet, none of us are. There is no one here that could possibly be over the age of twenty-five. Most of these men haven’t lived long enough to love someone eternally. Every one of us have barely lived, and we’re all about to risk¾and probably lose¾our lives over something most of us probably have barely ever tasted. We don’t really know freedom. All we know is that we want to, and we are ready to fight for it.

            We march toward our battlefield at a slow pace, but it feels like we’re moving too fast. Our entire lives are whizzing past us, and there is nothing we can do about it. I want to just press pause, and catch my breath. But I can’t. That pause button doesn’t exist. If I want to stop, then I can either die, or quit. I do not have the choice to do either of those. I didn’t take Ashton’s place for nothing.

            I can hear gunshots in the distance. A loud bang of a cannon. The screams of men dying of an agonizing injury. Some are probably being dragged away to be tortured for information. Most will break under pressure, despite the “top-class” training we endured. Others would rather die fighting than live knowing that they helped the enemies.

            Three quarters of the way there, I notice the stares I am getting from other soldiers. From every direction, I’m receiving glances of wonder and awe. I begin to worry that I’ve done something wrong. Did I forget something? Or worse, do they see my mutation? I know my eyelashes must be shining under the full moon. It would be a miracle for anyone to miss it. Do they know that this trait is what labels the Whistley Child?

            “Why are they staring,” I ask Jaydon, becoming too paranoid to stand it.

            “Haven’t you noticed? You’re the only girl here,” he points out.

            I look around. It’s true. Zena Whistley, the only girl to fight in her regime. Because girls are easy targets, according to the girl in jail. Every other soldier here is male, and probably hasn’t seen a female since they arrived. They must wonder why I’m the only one. But, of course, they’ll assume the obvious. Men are greatly needed, but very few in numbers. This is exactly why Ashton has no choice but to train the women back home.

            But what if they’re reading too far into this? What if they don’t assume the obvious? If they read far enough into it, they will be wondering why I was the one girl who ended up being here. Why not any another girl? What makes me worthy? I wonder if they will somehow realize who I am.

            We reach the gates of the town. The agriculture city-state of Circum. Here, we get all our vegetables and the few fruits we have access to. I cannot fathom how we can manage to harvest anything here now. This is a place where all living things die. How we are able to grow anything here successfully is a mystery to me.

            The cannons are deafening now. The flames engulf buildings, dancing on walls and rooftops. I can see the tips of the fire just above the fence. The sky is glowing above us. It almost looks picturesque, and if I didn’t know any better, I would think I was entering paradise at sunset