Pray for the weak.

The streamers sagged, the balloons drooped, the music faded, and the champagne went flat. A man and a woman sat on the couch dressed in lavish clothes, relaxing from the long night of festivities.

“Tomorrow’s the big day” the man said, poking the wood in the fireplace. “Our little girl’s going to prove how worthy she is.”

The woman looked down, giving a sad, soft smile. “That’s if she comes back”.

Thwack. The hand came quickly across the face like a tennis racket hit a serve. The woman moaned, holding her head in her hands as she recovered from the sting.

“How dare you! Our daughter isn’t spineless. She’s grown up in the strongest nation and she will continue to. How dare you!”

“I’m – “

“I’m, I’m sorry?” the man mocked. “How you made it back, I have no idea. You’re weak and I could always send you to the other side. Have you told her what happens there? You know that’s against the rules.”

“No. Please. I’m sorry. I guess I just drank too much.” She hadn’t drunk anything that night.

The man shook his head and strode away, leaving the woman alone in the lofty ballroom rubbing her cheek. She got up and climbed the spiral stairway up to the third floor, where she halted beside a room, opened the door a crack and peered inside.

A stream of light slid across the carpet, revealing a young girl’s face, sleeping heavily. A dress was draped across the chair, brushes and makeup strewn across the desk. On the floor lay a magazine, displaying a headline “THE STRONGEST NATION: A Story of Your Country!”, a pocket-knife beside it. The woman’s husband had bought that. She took a deep breath and clutched at a locket, weighing heavily on her chest. She glanced at the girl, the same heart-shaped locket reflecting light off its polished silver onto a shelf. On the shelf, sat a train ticket. Its date is marked for tomorrow. 16th March 2040. Destination: ‘Training Campus’. Name: Dina Garner.

The woman shut the door, turning back to the hallway. That night she would pray. Pray for many things.

*

Dina was perched on the couch surrounded by her friends attempting to kill an ant. She looked at her phone. No messages. Her mother had looked ill at the station. Her doctor had prescribed a new round of pills, but her father didn’t allow it. “She doesn’t need it” he said. “The nightmares will go on their own.” She was unsure if it was the war that still haunted her mother or something else. Perhaps a constant pressure to convince everyone you are strong and unlike the ‘weak rebels that aimed to destroy our brave nation with useless weapons and nuclear power!’. She would not be surprised. When she reads that magazine in her room, she feels it too.

“Yes!”.

The friends watched the ant give up, trapped in the cage made by their hands.

“Hey Dina. Would you do the honors?”

Dina made her way over to the glass table and squished the insect with her thumb. It reminded her of the time her mother trapped a beetle under a cup and brought it outside, only to meet her father, coming home from work. Dina had sat in her room, straining to hear the distorted yelling in the kitchen. “Just kill it – don’t feel sorry – embarrassment – let it go – it’s twenty years ago – you don’t belong here”. But now, the girl watched the ant writhe, waiting for it to become still.

The train slid silently on the tracks. They had been travelling for hours but the scenery of plush gardens and towering mansions had not changed. A screen lit up at the front of the carriage and a police announcement appeared, a bulky man with crossed arms proudly smirking. Dina recognized her father immediately. She had seen this advertisement repeatedly. She went to watch him film it that day.

“If you see anything suspicious, please contact my squad immediately. Help keep this nation strong.” He topped it off with a cheesy smile. Her mother had stayed home that day.

The train vibrated and suddenly started to slow, halting effortlessly in a grey building. This train station looked different. No posters. No glass ornaments. No restaurants. No ATMs. Just brick. As they piled off, the teenagers were instructed immediately to change out of their clothes into uniforms. Dina pulled on her jumpsuit; the number 12 boldly printed on her left shoulder. One of the boys snickered. “I’ve got number one”.

Each person was assigned an Evaluator. A dark-haired man with deep creases in his forehead, towered over Dina when he spoke. “Follow me 12.” He led her down a dark winding corridor, left, right, left. There were no windows, just barred doors, twisting water pipes on the ceiling and the subtle scent of mint. Finally, they reached a room. On the door sat the word ‘twelve’, shiny and polished. She clutched at her locket, remembering her father’s proud smile when he had draped it over her neck. It was almost sickening how insistent he was to prove the family a strong union, deserving of a place in that world after the war.

A green button flashed on the desk below a large hazy white glass panel. Dina sat on a stool, the door closing with a beep and click, the Evaluator pulling a clipboard from the shelf.

“Dina.”

“Yep.”

“How do you like your life so far?”

“It’s great. I love –”

“Cause Dina, some people aren’t lucky enough to live where you do.”

“I guess – ”

“I think only people who deserve it, should live where you do.”

“Good point.”

“You know the best of the best.” His mouth twisted into a smile.

“Sure.”

“Dina Garner. Garner. You’re Chief Garner’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Let’s have some fun.”

He clicked a button, the fog on the glass panel lifting, revealing the view outside.

There were people everywhere. Through the glass, she could see people crowded and pressed up against one another, sweating, dirty, their shirts ripped, with thick black anklets wrapped around their legs. Black sand covered the ground for miles, not a tree in sight, barbed wire propped on top of fences. Gigantic turbines sat in rows with labels marked ‘Electricity’, ‘Water’ and ‘Oil’. Glass windows, half embedded in the ground, showed the faces of her peers, absorbing the view like her. The Evaluator said something, but the girl ignored him, concentrating on the desert filled with seas of people.

“Dina.”

She looked at him.

“Push the button.”

“What does it do?”

He hesitates. “It makes the turbines work, providing resources for the citizens back at home.”

Push. Wait.

“It’s not turning.”

He smiled. “Yes, it is. Look.”

A frail man made his way towards a turbine clutching his ankle. He was biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. Something hurt. With all his might he clutched the wheel and pushed, groaning loudly as he did. Others began to join in.

In horror, she stepped back.

“Dina, make him work.”

“Again. Do you want to go back home, Dina?”

“Be strong and press the button. Show him who’s boss. He’s a criminal. Make him work.”

Across the sand Dina could see her friends smile through the glass. Some laughed as their prisoner fell down on the sweltering sand, trembling, unable to take another. One by one they fell, like dominoes. Crying filled the silence. The Evaluator screamed from behind. “Don’t be weak. Only the best go back. DO IT, DO IT!” Dina lifted her hand. She thought of her mother. Her father. The button came nearer. “Yes, that’s the way. DO IT!”. Closer, closer. “NOW!” Her breathing tightened. The green light lit up her face. “AGAIN!” Her hand shook, inches away. “YES”. So close now.

And that’s when it happened. The man stopped pushing the turbine and put his hands together on his chest and looked up at the sky. His mouth moved as he murmured the words, his eyes lightly closed. Dina took her hand back, noticing the glint of a familiar locket on his chest. The Evaluator wrote something down and grasped her wrist, taking her out of the room and dragging her down a different corridor, passing the path from where they came.

*

The man in the courtyard finished his prayer, tucked his locket away and watched as fellow prisoners wailed in agony. He had only been shocked by the anklet once. He watched the people on the sand stuff their shirts into their mouth, biting down, grunts muffled through the cloth. But he was standing. He knew what this meant. Someone would join them soon. Someone wasn’t going home. Someone didn’t have the guts.