The Redemption Project

Irony; A beautiful sunlit day, white fluffy clouds, the perfect picture of peace and tranquility. Played like a film in the windows of a train full of people all destined for death. And yet, not one fearful face was present in these seats. I could periodically hear the wheels of the dinner trolley as the hostess moved on to the next person in the aisle. Closely followed by the extravagant clink of cutlery being placed down, real silver, and the brief murmur of pleasantries that were often shadowed by the sound of escaping steam as meal covers were removed. The aromas that drifted down the carriage towards me were unrivalled by anything my nostrils had ever previously experienced. It was an unfamiliar tingle that I could not wait for my tastebuds to dance in. My ribs poked through my silk shirt, reaching out towards the sensations they so desperately craved. My curiosity of what it meant to feel full overcame me, and I peaked round the edge of my seat, watching the other passengers dive in greedily. It was the ultimate oxymoron; savages eating in a place of finery.

My turn came. She was pretty, the hostess. Natural beauty that came from growing up in a place where the sun kissed your cheeks. Where the clean, fresh air traced its fingers delicately across your skin with affection. Where you washed your hair in coconut milk and braided its soft strands to keep the dirt out whilst you played. She was slim, but full and her smile had seen no pain, no darkness. Kindness and light poured from her eyes with every sympathy in a heart so big I could almost hear it beating beneath her chest. She went through the motions of grandeur that came with her job here; Placed down three dishes before me, a glass of non-alcoholic Pina Colada, topped with cream and a fresh cherry, (I wanted my wits about me. I wanted to feel every part of this), a radiant red napkin, and a leaflet. Then she smiled, said her goodbyes, and moved on to the next volunteer. For my meal, I had chosen ‘crab and caviar on brioche’ to start, followed by ‘duck breast with apple and mushroom stuffing’ and finished with ‘authentic Sicilian cannoli’s’. I wanted every, last flavour I could get my hands on.

Once dinner service was over, I tucked the leaflet away to the side and waited for the next part of the program to begin. Gasps of awe filled the train as large TV screens began to lower from the ceiling. Trays of snacks were placed on each table, and, once the hostesses were back at their station at the end of the carriage, blackout walls came down around the tables and created a soundproof pod for each passenger. To begin with I was enveloped in total darkness, but the TV soon booted up and the light from the screen filled the pod. There was a large selection of movies to choose from. I used a lazy finger to swipe through until I found one about four boys on an adventure to find a dead body. It was definitely older, but oddly warming. My first ever experience of a film and I think I started out with a surprisingly good pick. Whilst the credits were playing, I took a chance to look at the leaflet. The picture on the front was simply of the sun and the title read ‘The Redemption Project’. Beneath that was a quote written in small text that read ‘We thank you for your selflessness’. Inside was everything you needed to know about the project; what rewards you would receive for taking part, what your contribution would mean for society and then finally what the process of the project would actually be. It was basically the same as the information packet given to us when we signed up so I did not really see why it was being given to us now, especially as we could not turn back at this point anyway. I gave it a brief read despite that, just because, then placed it back on the table.

There were five total processes in the project. Hygiene, Hunger, Entertainment, Sleep, Redemption. Hygiene had been completed before we boarded the train. Once we had signed the form agreeing to comply with the project, we had been shown to our own separate rooms. When I had reached mine, I had been greeted by a team of specialists in all different fields. It was like being part of those makeover shows you hear so much about. First, I was assisted with showering. I guess because it was the first shower I had ever had, and more than likely the same could be said for the other passengers. It took an hour before the water had started running clean. In my selection form I had chosen coconut-based beauty products. I had never smelt coconut before this point, but whenever I had been lucky enough to get close enough to the city to see the billboards, all the pretty people were on ones with a product related to coconut. It had smelt like everything I had hoped it would and as they had lathered me with it over and over again, I had watched it form into delightful little bubbles on my skin. Once the shower was done, they handed me a book with hairstyles in. Again, I had based my selection off what I had seen on a billboard, and chose one that was long, blonde and flowy with delicate curls. I had lost so much hair when they finally got the mats out that they had to add fake hair to replicate the style. Afterwards, my nails were cleaned, trimmed and painted, blue had been my choice for that. Then a man did my makeup, once again chosen from a picture in a book, glam with a dark, smokey eye. And finally, I had selected an outfit from a full wardrobe; A blue, silk button up shirt to match the nails, knee length, black pencil skirt and blue heels that laced up the ankles like a ballerina’s slipper (I had seen pictures of those in an old textbook I’d found half burnt in a bin). Standing looking at myself in the mirror after all this was done had been the most surreal experience of my life. It almost looked as if I had never known another existence outside of all this luxury. I looked like one of the Elites.

So now the first three processes were complete, the next would be sleep. The pods rose, followed soon after by the TVs, and we were all asked to stand in the aisle. The tables lowered in the floor of the train and the seats that had lined either side, unfolded and stretched across until they snapped together in the middle. The hostesses then began moving down the train, topping these surfaces with thick mattresses and making up beds with what looked like the finest linen to exist. Although given my history of beds, any material would probably look like that. There was an excited, silent buzz as every passenger impatiently bounced, ready to get their heads down on the duck feather pillows in front of them. It may not seem like much to those who slept on a bed every night, but if the hard, burning dust from outside the city was all you had for a bed, with no safety of walls to keep out the creatures at night, you would be bouncing for sleep too.

When all was ready, I clambered up onto the mattress, my finally full, bloated belly acting as an added cushion. I lay on my side stroking it with one hand, before finally placing my palm beneath it, as if holding it up. It was weird. I knew I would never in my life, experience pregnancy. I would never know what it felt like to grow outwards like that, feel the life moving inside of me as I went about my day. I could feel now the gurgles and rumbles as my stomach stretched and processed the ‘food baby’ as I had once heard it referred to by an outcast Elite. If I closed my eyes and drifted far enough, I could pretend for just a minute that it was a real baby, writhing beneath the silk of my shirt, almost ready to come and meet me in the real world. I drifted off to sleep, hand lovingly placed on my tummy, thinking of all the things my life could have been.

When I awoke, it was to the low buzzing of an alarm within the train. We were here. The hostess with the smile came to me and beckoned that I follow her. We walked off the train and although the sky was still bright, it had a red tinge to the clouds that I recognized from back home. The train had stopped atop a large canyon. I could see the edge not so far in the distance but first there was a row of male hosts which we were told to queue in front of. When I finally reached the front of my queue, the host asked my name and what I would be donating. My hand hesitated over my chest for a moment, then pulled out a worn, heart shaped locket from beneath my clothing. It had been my sisters, bought for her as a gift from her daughter before they both got sick. The only family I had ever had in this world. I think the host could see my reliving the sentiment in my eyes for he smiled sweetly, then gestured for me to turn around so he could help me unclip it. ‘What was their name?’ I told him and I told him their story and he gave me a brief hug before writing not only my name on a tag, but theirs too. Then he attached the tag to the locket, dropped it into a container at his feet, thanked me for my service, then allowed me to pass through. I gave him a nod, then made my way to the edge of the canyon. And when I got there, I did not stop walking.

…

‘The Redemption Project was brought in somewhere between five-ten years after the first apocalypse. The Project was decided upon by a group of people named The Elites. They were a small society of people living within the walls in safety and with food, shelter and a relatively normal life. Outside the walls was poverty and death and it was known that it was not common to survive. The Redemption Project called for volunteers from outside the walls to voluntarily give their lives so that The Elites could bring what remained of the outsiders, into the walls with the resources to rebuild society. In return, they would give the volunteers one day in the life of the rich from the old world as thank you for their service. Nobody outside of the volunteers would ever experience this level of luxury until the world was rebuilt. On this wall, you can find treasures donated by the volunteers, with their names written on tags so that they might always be remembered. They are the saviors of this earth’.

The girl stroked her hand across the rusted heart locket before her. It read ‘Molly’ in almost unreadable letters followed by ‘Elaina + Talia’ in a small heart underneath. It felt weird to the girl that thousands of years before, something so drastic was necessary to restore the earth to what it was now. Why could they not share less with more people, so they all survived? She wanted to read more of the tags so she could honor these people, but the museum would be closing soon. By the time she had got home, she had already forgotten the names on the tag.