Life Made, Not Lived

The hospital room was cold, impersonal, and even with all the furnishings, felt empty. Maybe the reason was because no one stayed long enough to leave behind a mark of their spirit. The birth education posters on the wall were a mere attempt to make the room look like a place of healing, when instead, it riddled you with heart ache you did not come in with. She rubbed her belly, wishing she could keep her daughter inside her forever. As hard as it was, she accepted that the child she carried in her womb would not be hers to keep. In fact, she would never hear of her daughter ever again, but it did not stop her from longing for a different, brighter future where she was able to love and care for her daughter.

Despite the immense pain running through every part of her body, she did everything possible to make it last. She was not ready to bring her baby into this world just to be given to the Takers. The feeling was not mutual, she soon realized. Her baby was anxious to come out, and it was hard not to feel betrayed when it took only fifteen minutes of pushing before cries rang loudly through the room. That was when she began to count down the hours that she had left with her daughter, before having to send her away. They only had two days together, enough time for the doctors to make sure the baby was healthy and that there were no complications from birth. She kept her daughter in her arms the entire time, whether she was feeding her, rocking her to sleep, or staring in her eyes. "If I never set her down," She thought, "They'll never have the chance to take her." She told her stories of the way life would have been like together, and sung her lullabies as she swung a heart shaped locket above her head. She had made it years ago, when she worked in Trinkets, and wore it every day since.

Waiting in line, she clutched her baby to her chest as hard as she could, feeling a prick from the locket around her neck that had wedged itself between them, but she did not mind it; she tried to cherish every last second, but the time did not last, and it was quickly her turn as she stepped up to a table to begin the registration process with one of the Class Enforcers. In her attempt to spend as much time with her child, she stalled by asking the Enforcer to repeat his questions, answering them slowly, even taking her time searching in her bag when he asked for the paperwork from the hospital, anything to buy a little more time. After a series of medical questions and biometric scans, the Enforcer looked at her, and pursed his lips to signal that he was about to ask the final question.

"Chosen name?" the officer asked. "I get to name her?" She had only thought of a name once, long ago. Her good friend said it was best not to name the heartbreak. "We will let the Takers know what you've picked, if they don't like it, they'll change it." The officer anxiously tapped his finger on the edge of the table, impatiently looking back and forth between her and the long line of crying babies behind her that he had yet to check-in. "Silah." He jotted it down in front of the folder he handed to her, and on a band that he placed around the baby's wrist. "Go to Terminal 2, ma'am."

There were three terminals to the left of the registration lines, each with a train full of wet nurses waiting to help board all the babies that were going to be taken up. Her heart beat faster and her feet got heavier with each step she took towards the terminal. She spent the whole walk staring at her daughter's face, trying her hardest to burn it forever into her memory. She imagined how fast she would grow in a few months, how her first laugh would sound, and how long her hair would be, but her day dreaming was cut short when she reached the entrance to her personal hell. Past the entrance, behind a desk, stood a Class Enforcer, and a wet nurse, casually resting her arm on child-safe seat on the table. The Enforcer signaled to the folder under her arm. As soon as she handed it over, he began scanning the barcode of each document. The wet nurse looked at her with a polite smile, as if she was an attendant welcoming her aboard the train, and not the person who would be taking her child from her arms. The Enforcer scanned the baby's band and nodded after the confirmation from the machine.

"Please put it in the seat." He said, as he left the boarding area with the paperwork. She had never seen such a beautiful baby. Buckled in her seat, covered in hospital blankets, she lay sound asleep. She resented how peaceful her daughter was during the most anguishing moment of her own life. "The First Borns go to the best Takers, dear. That should offer some relief, now, doesn't it?" said the wet nurse, placing a name tag on the seat. "Please tell me what will happen with my baby." The nurse gave a big sigh, knowing this question was going to come sooner or later. It always did. There were a lot of scary rumors that spread around the Pastures, started by Rebels who were trying to discourage young women from giving up their wombs in exchange for permanent housing from the Class Moderators. "Honey, don't worry. Babies are not allowed in the Pastures for a reason. She will live a good life up there, one she can't live here." With an empathetic smile, the nurse turned away, acting like she had something to do on the train to offer her a moment of privacy to say good bye to her First Born. Quickly, she took off the locket, brought it to her lips, and squeezed it hard as she chanted a Manifestation into it. She kissed it, and placed it around her daughter's neck. "I will see you again, Silah." With a kiss on her forehead, she said her last good bye, and watched the nurse come back and carry her daughter into the train. The Class Enforcer, who had returned just in time, led her out of the terminal and into the road, where she silently, and half-heartedly made her way back home.

Later that night, she climbed onto the roof of the house she shared with other Makers her age also working for the Class Moderators. She looked up at the giant, night sky and allowed her mind to wander into space with her daughter. A short while later, she felt her best friend lay by her side.

"It's true what they say about your First Born." she whispered. "It's always the hardest." It did not make her feel better to know the next would be less painful, because at the moment, she could not imagine the pain fading away from her first. Knowing that she would go through this again and again made her think of all the added pain, not the easing of it. "Why do they deserve kids and we don't? What do they have that we don't?" She could not resist the tears that began rolling down the side of her face. "Everything. There is no life here, there is only work. What kind of life is that for a baby? To not have any toys, or go to school!" said her friend. "But we make all those things here! How can we make all those toys and supplies for the school, grow all this food, and not be able to raise them?" She was angry, and nothing made sense. There was no reason why a woman in the Pastures would not be able to raise at least one of the babies she makes for the Class Moderators. "Because there is no life here, don't you see? There is only work! We are workers! We had our chance above to make it into the High Class, and we didn't, so now we work and we provide. This is not a place where life is lived, it's where life is made. We make the food, the clothes, the toys, the supplies for the houses and the hospitals. We even make the people! We make everything that the trains take to the ship to send up to the Takers to use, and we get nothing in return except new Exiles who are sent for service." Her friend sounded sadder than she had ever heard her before. The five registrations she has gone through have taken their toll on her friend's emotions, and it was beginning to show. "You should just be happy knowing that the next time you work at the Nursery, the infant formula you make might be given to your baby. Or that the next time you work in Education, you make the book her mom will read her before bed." It was a nice thought, and though it helped her friend cope a bit with all the children she has sent away, it was not enough for her to get through the rest of her days. "Would it be horrible that I hope she ends up an Exile? So I can meet her when she comes to the Pastures?" she gave her a friend a quick glance. "A little bit, but I won't judge you for it." That is why she was her best friend; she could always share her selfish desires without judgement. "The Rebels say all the paperwork is burned before the babies even make it on the trains. They say it's just a show to ease our nerves about the care of the kids, but really, they go in without any information from what Pasture they are from. There are some Exiles that have tried to find any details about their birth so they can find their Makers when they arrive, but no one knows anything. It's not like we are allowed to mark them for life, so we know it's them if they ever come back." They laid there looking at all the stars in the sky for a while longer, enjoying the peace and quiet after such a difficult day. It was tiny, but she could spot Station number two where the High Class lived, and wondered if her baby would be sent there, that way she could come up to the roof every night, and look up at her daughter.

Every day that passed got a little harder, before they got easier. At first, everything that she made would remind her of her daughter, and would send her in a day dream where she imagined her daughter wearing the shoes she had just packed, or eating the fruit she had just harvested. These moments made her happy, but they were hard to come back from, and only made her feel worse than before. Sometimes, on really hard days, she would climb on the roof to look at the nearest Station, and cry to her baby. She did not like being inside because her house was full of pregnant girls going through their next round, reminding her that in a few months, her body would be ready to begin her second round as well.

The only thing that made her days easier after a while, was thinking about the locket she had given her daughter. Did she make it to her new home with the locket? Did her new parents decide to keep it? Is it stored in a toy jewelry box on the baby's dresser, next to a ballerina figurine or teddy bear, perhaps? Will she like to wear it when she's older? These questions gave her hope through the 20 years of being a Maker. Even after the endless visits to that cold, empty hospital room, she never thought about any of her babies the way she did about Silah, and on her 20th birthday, she began to look for her in the sea of new Exiles that entered the Pasture every week. When she did not see her during the first few arrivals, she assumed she made the High Class, and would stay above to enjoy a lavish life. It was a good thing, and so she was ready to accept that she many never see Silah again while she watched the last of the Exiles leave the train. It was only as she turned away, that she saw an image all too familiar; the sun shining into a heart shaped glass locket, sending reflections of red, glittering light across a face she had once kissed goodbye.