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“5”

A story of the chosen ones.

By Alexandra Garcia (She/Her)Published 3 years ago 6 min read
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“5”
Photo by Ryan Johns on Unsplash

All I have left from her is a wooden heart-shaped locket I made her while I was in my timber post. She was one of the chosen ones and I just stood there watching them take her. My feet were grounded to this place. It has been six months now and every time I walk past the wall I wonder about the terrors she might be enduring.

No one talks about the chosen ones anymore. We mourn them the day they take them and we move on. My skin prickles and my teeth clench when the soldier pushes me to keep from walking. I reach the entrance of the building where my bunker is. I extend my arm and one soldier pulls me; I fall to my knees. I lift my chin to look at the soldier, even though I know is useless. Their uniforms cover their faces and bodies. 

The syringe penetrates my skin, and I watch the blood being extracted from me. I wait for the results, with the same hope I had for the last 6 months, to have a change in the markers. The soldier waits for the unusual machine to either buzz me in the building or to signal him I am chosen.

The buzz sounds, and I enter the building. I reach to my bunker with disdain. Another day has passed and my fear grows. I pull the locket out of my pocket and force myself to remember her—5.

“You will soon forget her just like everyone else” 16 says. She eats a spoonful of her soup before sitting in the bunker next to mine. I nod, trying not to show any telling emotion. “Did you eat? The soup arrived a few minutes ago,” she adds.

I shake my head and climb down the bunker. I walk to the common room and wait in line. I scan the faces in the common room and it seems 37 and 54 are not in the room. Perhaps they are back in the bunkers just like 16 or perhaps they were chosen just like 5 was six months ago. Hope blooms again.

The soldier serves the same soup I have had for as long as I can remember and hands me two pieces of bread. I take the extra piece and hide in my pocket in an instant. This soldier must be new, unaware that we are only supposed to receive one piece of bread per meal. My lips form a smile and I hurry to my bunker before he notices his mistake.

I wake up to the loud sirens outside our building. I jerk away and I jump out of the bunker. Someone has tried to cross the wall. A soldier is at the entrance of our building with a metal baton, challenging us to go out. We all know to well the consequences. We stay put.

“Form them in a line,” a voice farther from us says.

The soldier order us to get in a line and we do. Most of us know what is coming, the demonstration. This is the only time all the people from the different buildings are gathered together. I look around me and we are at least 200.

My stomach drops when I see the bloody faces on the stage. 37 and 54. They were just like me and 5. Watching 37 swollen eye makes my hands turn into fists. I look away because I know what is coming. I hear the rope being tied against the gallows. Time passes so slow and so fast. I only open my eyes when I stop hearing the struggles in the distance.

The sun is already up and instead of going back to our buildings, the soldiers guide us to our posts. Today I have timber. Maybe is the unexpected hanging from this morning or maybe is knowing that it could have been me and 5 when we play with the idea to cross the wall to escape this place years ago, making my exertion to be greater than it usually is.

“They soon will take the older ones and the wall will open for just a moment” 11 whispers to his partner. I refused to take another partner, even if I take double the time to finish my quota. 

“There will be more soldiers than we usually see and you know how they like to show the importance towards us. I say we stay in our buildings unless they call our names,” 2 recommends and 11 concedes.

This exchange got my attention. If the wall opens for the older ones and they are being taken somewhere, I could go with them across it even if I am not part of the group. It is still a better chance to see 5 than I have had for the past six months.

The day to take the older ones has come. We have at least eight soldiers per building; they ask the first building to move to the common area for the older ones to be named. Once our building is up, I take a deep breath, wishing they call my name. 

“8 and 11” The soldiers says. My chest constrains and before I can hesitate I grab 8’s arm and eye at him. Pleading him to take his place. He quickly nods in agreement. He has attachments in the building next door, so I hope he agreed. I clench the locket in my left hand and relax.

Once all the older ones and I are gathered in front of the wall, each one of us is paired with a soldier.

“This one is mine.” I recognize the voice. The soldier next to me trades with the one who just claimed me. The wall opens and we slowly march inside.

“This is the march of death. The moment I tell you when, you need to walk with me. Don’t look around you and drop your gaze to your feet otherwise they will know,” the soldier murmurs so softly, ensuring I am the only one I can hear. I gulp and something about the voice makes me nod. My gaze stays fixated on the person who is in front of me. The line suddenly halts, and I try my best not to look around me. The first older one enters the brick building in front of us.

“Now,” 

I drop my gaze and I feel the soldier’s hand curling around my arm. I walk, trying to keep up with the pace.

“Soldier, where are you taking him?” 

“This one seems to be stronger than the other ones. I want to use him before finishing him,” the soldier responded. Laughter rings in my ears, my stomach lurches. 

I continue to walk; I am aware my feet will be filled with blisters tomorrow. A door creaks open and I am pushed inside.

I lift my stare, finally. The soldier is in front of me, removing slowly the full-face helmet.

My breath catches, and I gape.

“5” I breathe out. Her smile blinds me.

“Now we can finally find a way out of this place” 

Young Adult
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About the Creator

Alexandra Garcia (She/Her)

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