Levi

They took him away. He was dragged kicking and screaming. At 21 years old, he’s old enough to be called “Enemy to the Republic.” But he’s just a boy.

If he was scared, he didn’t show it. His jaw clenched with determination. His eyes burned with a conviction that made it clear he was not going out without a fight. But he shouldn’t have had to fight at all. He’s just a boy who never knew when to stop talking.

But he knew what he was talking about.

Maybe he’s the only one who does.

I lower my pencil, unable to continue. It’s still too hard. But Levi was right; journaling is a good way to clear your head. Or to at least find some catharsis.

It’s been twelve days since they took him away. The patrolmen won’t tell us why. I always knew that Levi talked too much for his own good. It was only a matter of time before he said the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least, that’s what I think happened.

Even when they were dragging him away, he kept shouting. “Refusing to be silenced,” as he would say. Guns pointed at the crowd, black barrels staring us down. I’ve never seen patrolmen fire, but that’s because they don’t have to. We know it only takes the movement of a finger for everything to end.

Still, I almost moved to help him. I almost screamed his name. Almost. Part of me wishes I had.

When I wake, my eyes still burn from lack of sleep. The glowing clock reads 7:45 am. I want to sleep for a few more minutes. The cubicle doors don’t unlock until 8:00 am when the curfew ends. But my body is wide awake, so I might as well get ready for the day.

I turn to look at my nightstand. A potted sprout sits there, small but strong. One day, it will be a beautiful pear tree. All it needs is someone to look after it. I tap one of the smooth, flat leaves with a fingertip to wish the plant good morning. The little pear tree is the closest thing I will ever have to a live-in companion. I wish it good morning every day, if only for reassurance. Reassurance that no matter what, my mind is my own, and therefore I am free.

My thoughts drift to Levi again and I feel something stir inside me. Something thick and suffocating, like a dense fog, and angry and wild, like a fire.

As I lift my pencil to find catharsis, my body convulses with electricity. I know the shock comes from the Republic-issued emotional-regulation device embedded in my neck. It always catches me by surprise. My head is filled with a drunken euphoria and the tension in my shoulders dissipates.

I open my journal to its twelfth page. The first eleven were ripped out at some point, leaving behind their torn margins. My hand slightly shaking from the shock, I write: The Republic keeps us all happy.

Thanks to the Republic, which comes before all.

A metallic scrape and echoing thunk fills my cubicle as the door’s internal locking mechanism releases. 8:00 am. Time to start the day.

I put my journal and pencil aside. Reluctantly, I swing my legs out of bed and slowly stand, feeling my back crack a little as I do. I should stretch more. I extend my arms outward; my fingertips graze the sides of my cubicle. Then I reach upwards, grazing the ceiling.

I change from the lightweight cotton of my sleep jumpsuit to the rough canvas of my work jumpsuit. I take exactly a step and a half towards my “kitchen” counter. The kitchen is just the counter and the cabinets above it. I just grab a granola bar to take with me; I need to get out of here. It’s so small, too tight.

A shock runs through my body.

You know, my cubicle is actually pretty cozy. It’s all the space I really need. That said, there’s nothing wrong with seizing the day.

As I step towards the door, my foot pushes an envelope across the floor. As I pick it up, I curse and lace up my scuffed boots as quickly as humanly possible. I completely forgot today was Voting Day. I slide the envelope into a drawstring bag and turn to push through the door. After a moment’s hesitation, I decide to take my journal with me. I need some part of Levi with me today.

I rush through the passageways as quickly as I can without breaking into a run. The fluorescent ceiling lights cast the same shadows as natural dawn-light. At least, that’s what the interior designers and scientists say. No one has seen real dawn-light for centuries.

As I pass the endless rows of cubicles, each one the same as the next, a little boy points to me and cries out, “Look, it’s the lady with the plant!” His mother quickly hushes him and, with furtive glances towards me, pulls the child away.

I don’t understand why so many people distrust plants. They’re harmless. They’re even beautiful. People say that our life underground is beautiful enough; we have the world’s best designers and technology to make it so. But plants are a different kind of beautiful. An authentic kind of beautiful.

The only other person I know who had a plant was Levi. He grew sunflowers. The journal he gave me is decorated with pressed petals. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

Some people say that before we left the surface, nature turned against us. They say it all started with climate change and the natural disasters that followed. Few will admit the truth: we were the ones who caused climate change. We are the reason we had to seek refuge underground.

And we are the reason we’ve never left. There are some, people like Levi, who say that the world has recovered and we could return to the surface if we wanted. Start over. Those people tend to disappear, and life goes on as always. Underground.

Other people are critical of “tending to recreational plants” because they don’t believe in “wasting” any of their water rations. Those ones don’t distrust plants. They just distrust people like me who exercise “poor judgment.”

“Eris!” I shout when I glimpse her blond braid.

She greets me with a photograph-ready smile. “Cass!” She pulls me to stand beside her in the voting line. “Who will you be today, Cassius or Cassandra?”

“Just Cass. I’m just a normal person, nothing more than that.”

“There’s that humility I adore!” She smiles. “So, who are you voting for?”

I pull the government-issued envelope from the bag and open it with a flourish. “According to the Republic, I’m voting for Mr. Constance, who promises to make our underground lives better than ever.”

“I got the same one!” She squeals. “I love Voting Day.”

Her words remind me of something Levi once told me. “You know, in the surface world, ‘voting’ meant choosing who you wanted in government. Everyone got to do it. They were free to choose.”

“Well, thanks to the Republic, we are free from that kinda pressure. Ha! See what I did there,” she laughs. “And maybe lower your voice when you talk about life on the surface. You don’t want to attract… unwanted attention, if you know what I mean.”

I just nod in half-hearted agreement. A sensation of being trapped and helpless creeps up inside me--

“Cass! Are you okay?” Eris cries.

“Yeah,” I reply, rubbing my neck where I was shocked. The helpless feeling fades away. “I’m fine.”

“How many times today?”

I hesitate before answering. “Three,” I grumble.

“You know why this is happening. I saw the journal in your bag. You’re thinking about your friend again. The Enemy to the Republic. Leviticus,” she says.

“His name was Levi.” I snap.

Her eyes narrow. “His Republic-given name is Leviticus. And the Republic comes before all. You’d best remember that, Cass.”

I try my best to sound convincing. “I will.” Judging by Eris’ expression, I failed.

A whistle cuts through the air as the monorail speeds by. I stare after it, long after it disappears from view. A shock makes my hair stand on end for the fourth time that morning.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Eris says. Because we had reached the voting booths, I was saved from answering.

Once seated in the booth, with the curtain drawn, I stare at the ballot before me. Eris was right. There was something I didn’t tell her.

Yesterday, when I took the monorail to work, I saw Levi. He looked happy, healthy, and most importantly, unharmed. I greeted him with what may have been the world’s warmest hug.

But he didn’t recognize me. He introduced himself as John, though he had the same scars and birthmarks Levi did. He marveled at fluorescent ceiling lights, though Levi always had his eyes on never-seen stars. It was like they had taken Levi out and filled his body with someone else. I apologized, fumbling with excuses, and turned away.

The ballot seems to glare back at me. I know what I’m supposed to do but can’t bring myself to do it. I can feel the device in my neck revving up for another shock. Before I know it, I’ve ripped it from my neck.

With blood on my fingers, I don’t mark the bubble I’m supposed to. Instead, I write in, “Levi.”

I don’t regret what I did. Not even as I rush home, my hand clutching my neck, trying to hide where I removed the emotional-regulation device. Not even as Eris calls my name and glares at me with suspicious eyes.

Every emotion within me is dialed up to eleven. For the first time, I can feel. And what I feel is freedom. So I have no regrets. Not even that night, when the patrolmen show up at my cubicle, sneer at my plant, remove the page I wrote in my journal, and drag me through the passageway.

Not even when I see Eris on the corner, talking with one of the patrolmen, and realize she was the one who reported me.

I told her I was just Cass, a normal person. But I am so much more than that.

Like Cassius, I can start revolutions. Like Cassandra, I can see the truth. And like Levi, I will shout until everyone hears or until I can’t shout anymore. And so I do. I shout until something strikes my head and the fluorescent world goes dark.

When I wake, my eyes still burn from lack of sleep. The glowing clock reads 7:45 am. I want to sleep for a few more minutes. But my body is wide awake, so I might as well get ready for the day.

A potted sprout sits on my nightstand, small but strong. One day, it will be a beautiful pear tree. All it needs is someone to look after it. I tap one of its leaves to wish the plant good morning. I do this every day, if only for reassurance. Reassurance that no matter what, my mind is my own, and therefore I am free.

My thoughts drift to Levi again and I feel something stir inside me. Something like a dense fog, but also like a fire.

As I lift my pencil to find catharsis, my body convulses with electricity from the device embedded in my neck. My head is filled with a drunken euphoria and the tension in my shoulders dissipates.

I open my journal to its thirteenth page. The first twelve were ripped out at some point. Shaking from the shock, I write: The Republic keeps us all happy.

Thanks to the Republic, which comes before all.