The Culling

I was fourteen when the culling occurred.

Old enough to vaguely remember, young enough not to fully understand but smart enough to know it was wrong. Perhaps necessary but wrong all the same.

The amazing thing is that this event was not a localized incident. Another astounding part of all this, is that it managed to remain a secret. It was a unified orchestrated work of wonder that occurred across the world, simultaneously. Out of the one hundred and ninety-five countries, one hundred and one partook in this atrocious affair. And no one knew it was going to happen except those in charge, not even those who conducted the act of violence. I believe the soldiers did not know up until the very moment. They were handpicked but they were unaware.

It began at the stroke of midnight November 1st, give, or take depending on the time zone. All Hallows eve was now past and a new nightmare was about to begin. No treats, but a trick was about to be played on all of us.

Military trucks rolled in like the blitzkrieg of old, the earth shook from the sheer number of them, while helicopter search lights lit up the night sky. I had just snuck into our home, a couple of hours passed my curfew, my parents were waiting for me. They knew I was going to a friend’s Halloween party. The agreement was that I needed to be home by ten, because earlier in the month the Government sent out a bylaw that all businesses had to shut down and everyone indoors by 11pm on October 31st this year. The reason was unexplained, but it repeated several times a day.

We stared at each other, I could see the relief in their eyes, knowing I was home. From what they have been through in the past couple of years I knew it was a big deal that they allowed me out so late.

Unlike my older sister, they trusted me, I was the good one. Yet they had a reason to be nervous.

We felt the earth shake the foundations of our home and watched as the skies lit up. Yet none of us stirred until we heard tiny pops in the distance and muffled screams began to filter through the dark. Before they could start berating me for being late, or questioning the noises, our phones started ringing. I fumbled for mine. We stood with confused looks on our faces mixed with fear for the call we assumed was coming.

My phone rang again, as did my parents, we answered at the same time.

With relief I saw my best friend’s name scroll across the screen. “Hello Luis, what’s up?”

His voice was loud and sounded frightened. “Jesus, Dave the internet is lit up with crazy shit, have you seen it …killing them… do you think it’s true…. Christ what the f...”

Cutting him off I cry out. “Luis, slow down, what’s going on?”

“The world, that’s what’s going on. People are being………………….”

The line went dead, I dialed his number but there was no service. I tried to go on the internet, but it too was offline.

The same was happening with my parents’ phones. They too were trying to call out with no luck. We stared at each other in silence for a moment before both my parents began to bombard me with questions asking if I saw anything out there. Before I had a chance to say anything the emergency neighborhood speakers that were installed six months ago began blaring a warning siren. The sound was deafening.

When it finally stopped a calming voice, sounding much like that movie star from years ago, Morgan Freeman, echoed in the emptiness. A cool soothing voice telling us to remain indoors until further notice. The military has the situation under control. Letting us know there was no need to panic. Then another soothing reminder to remain calm.

That message repeated throughout the night.

My father looked at me and in a firm, but loving voice, told me to go to bed, then walked away with mom following quickly behind.

Their words, although whispered, carried through to me. I know they were arguing. There was quiet then I heard the door slam. Mom returned, holding back tears, she held my hand and motioned me to bed. I believe she hoped all would be better in the morning.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and went to my room, I had no intention of sleeping. I knew where father was going and I knew where to look, he did not. Slipping out my window, I crouched low on the roof, crawled slowly to the edge then swung over the side hanging onto the ledge I dropped to the ground.

To this day I can still see the sky glow red with flares against the velvet backdrop of night, the continuous hum of machinery vibrated in the air. The cry of many voices had all but ceased, except for an occasional scream that sounded more like a plea, but even those became fewer. Perspiration coated my face and neck in the cool air, causing me to shiver. My footsteps silent, with a hollow slapping echo as rubber sole met concrete. I remembering being glad I brought gloves, as soft flurries of snow gently fell dusting the world in white. A cloud formed in front of my face with each breath I exhaled. A small pain in my side began but I dared not stop, in fact I ran harder.

I found myself ducking behind bins and leaning into the shadows as a never-ending line of vehicles passed. Speeding through the empty streets like they were leaving a place on fire or racing towards it. Road blocks were everywhere turning traffic away. News crews were detained and their vehicles towed. Approaching Baker Street, where most of them resided during the night. Standing on a garbage bin I hoisted myself up the rung of an escape ladder. In no time I found myself on the roof of a five-story building looking down on the chaos below. Twisted bodies lay like discarded dolls on the street. Even from here I saw liquid red clashing against a backdrop of white. Soldiers searching every nook and makeshift hut. A man with a flame thrower attached on his back was torching nylon tents and cardboard homes and wooden framed shelters. Flimsy homes of the homeless flared and melted away. Tiny sparks rose and floated away into the night, to smolder and die in the blink of an eye.

I watched as dozens upon dozens of people were rounded up, crammed onto trucks and hauled away. Most too weak to fight back others so spaced out on drugs this was no more than another living nightmare to them.

The dirty survivors shuffled like zombies up the ramps, resembling what the slave traders must have witnessed as they gathered the remnants of a beaten people. Only I did not believe these poor souls were going to different lands, I knew their days on earth were finished.

The few that ran were shot without hesitation and left on the pavement, soldiers marched past, while large trucks drove over them, until they were mere puddles of flesh and crushed bone. The others who were slumped in corners, folded unmoving, were gathered by others in full body white jump suits, their limp bodies tossed onto piles of slow moving trucks.

I shook uncontrollably. My mouth went dry, the only warmth I felt were my tears that fell. I knew, even at this age that this was not a single event, the words of Luis rang in my head, this was happening in other parts of the city and our country, probably all over the world.

Exhausted, I leaned against the cold brick and stared at the moon. It looked so clean. I knew I would never unsee what I just witnessed. I also knew my mind would try to suppress the horrors and reshape them as faded memories. I never wanted to forget, but at the same time I never want to remember. My body refused to move so I stayed until the false morning light crept upon the land.

As the last vehicle left, I peeked over the ledge. There was nothing to say this ever happened, there was nothing to suggest an atrocious act of human deprivation occurred. There was only silence.

As the morning light finally pierced the fading grey, The calm voice of reason once more broke the silence. The Morgan Freeman like voice thanked everyone for their cooperation. The crisis has been eliminated and all returned to normal. However that day was more than a new day, it would be recognized as a new beginning. The announcement, continued by saying, everyone but essential workers would be given the day off. Letting us know that you would be contacted if you were required to work. The voice asked us to stay home and be with our loved ones. Thanked us and gave thanks to God. I was fairly sure he would not have approved this message.

I do not remember the walk home or opening the door. I do remember my parents holding each other and weeping.

I joined them.

Over time we found out the truth. The homeless, the mentally unstable, and the hopelessly addicted were washed away. Pushers, drug dealers, major drug lords and entire street gangs were rounded up and disposed of without trial. Thousands of people vanished, forever.

Somehow the pharmaceutical companies and all their kind were omitted from the cull.

Thirty one years later, I now stand witness to a new change. Below me lined up in rows were the surviving members who devised the cull, the act of human cleansing. I understand that in some way it was necessary to clean the world. Back then the streets were no longer safe, the economy was falling into ruin and the medical system crumbling under the burden.

But too many innocent victims were disposed of without the chance for proper treatment. The head of the snake needed to be cut off, but my sister was one of those who perished that night. She was not part of any snake, she like many others were the sacrificial mice that fed the reptiles who slithered into so many innocent lives and swallowed whole their souls. Devouring everything they once were and everything they could have been.

I would not let go, I couldn't.

Out of the one hundred and one countries that partook that night, ninety-four were now doing the same as us this very moment. The politicians and the ones who participated and planned that night, somehow managed to keep their afflicted family members safe before the culling.

These decision makers now huddle and shiver in the predawn, waiting for our decision. We too have grown tired of these self-absorbed characters of dishonesty, corrupt low morals, and self-serving behavior. With a disregard for the needs and well-being of the people they serve.

Who needs them?

I nod to proceed. A recorded voice begins to recite their judgement from the very speakers they set up years ago. I think of my sister and the hell these people put our family and thousands of other through. I smile as the voice that sounds like Morgan Freemen passes judgment and hands out their sentence.

It's going to be a beautiful day.

Thank you,

Jason