Through the Mist

The alarm sounds. I rise from my narrow bed. I stand and shuffle towards the rack that holds my uniforms and pull one on. I smooth down my short brown hair.

At 7:00 the Work tone rings, and I open my door onto the corridor. Everyone is there, in their identical crisp uniforms and short hair parted in the middle. I turn to my left. We move in single file towards the door at the far end of the walkway.

I can hear it before I see it: the slow hiss of water leaving a thin pipe. The doorway is lined with tiny holes, each one emitting a faint stream of Mist. I don’t remember what lavender is, but they say it smells of lavender. It’s a calming scent. We walk in a single-file line towards the doorway.

If I think hard enough, I can recall the faint, fuzzy edges of Before. There were so many more people. We didn’t live in the Factory. I went somewhere else every day, and then came home.

Home. I don’t know what the word means, but it comes back to me sometimes.

But then, there was the Event. That’s all that’s left: the word. “Event.” It carries a hushed weight. We know that there was Before, and there was an Event. And that’s all.

The doorway is growing closer now. I smell its sweet scent. One more foot, and I will be under its flow.

I don’t have much to remember, thanks to the Mist. But I still flash through everything from the last twelve hours. My return to my room after Work. Dinner. And then I recall it: The loose metal floorboard under my bed. The carved-out hole beneath. The tarnished silver of a heart-shaped locket, and the words: “Always and forever.”

Mentally, I grasp the image. Remember. The textured surface, the words etched on the back. Remember. There was a tiny picture of a person inside. They had long hair and a wide smile. Remember. Who are they? Remember. I know I won’t, but I try to stamp it in my mind anyway.

I walk through the Mist.

---

I am 91829.

I am walking. I am breathing. I am sitting down in my seat, which is marked with my number.

This is my Machine. I work at the Factory. We build things our New Society needs. My job is to press these buttons. Lift this lever. There are people beside me. We are allowed to speak if we want to, but most people don’t. There is nothing to talk about when you don’t remember.

I begin my Work. Press, lift. There is a pleasant peace in it.

Across from me, there is another Worker. They have the same haircut as me: short, parted in the middle. But their hair is a gentle blond, and mine is brown. They don’t look at their machine as they work. They stare off into space.

Then they look at me.

I smile tentatively. I am out of practice at this. Press, lift. I want to look away, at my machine, at the white walls, but something makes me hold my gaze on the soft gray eyes across from me. They return the smile.

At 5:00 the alarm sounds again. We line up.

The Worker who sat across from me is in the line to my right. They catch my eye and smile again. I return it. This time, it feels more natural. It suddenly strikes me as funny. I start giggling softly. So do they.

I become aware of the Guardians watching us. Guardians are kind. They do not hurt Workers. They don’t have to. They have the Mist. But they do warn us sometimes.

The other Worker and I stop laughing and look forward. Another tone sounds.

We walk.

---

I am 91829.

I am walking. I am breathing. I am sitting down in my seat, which is marked with my number.

Across from me, there is a Worker with gentle blond hair and kind gray eyes. They are looking at me. Something in their gaze tugs at me.

I clear my throat. “What…” My voice is gravelly. Press, lift. I try again. “What is your number?” I ask.

“91423,” they reply. Their voice is smooth and strong. “You?”

“91829,” I say, automatically.

They nod. “Nice to meet you.” Is this what we used to say to each other? It sounds so odd.

“Nice to meet you too.”

I smile. They smile back, but there is a wistfulness in their eyes. Like they are disappointed. The smile fades. Press, lift. Press, lift. Press lift.

The alarm sounds.

---

I am in my room.

One metal floorboard is loose. I feel it when I step towards my bed, and it comes undone when my foot brushes against it. Curious, I bend down. I pull the screw away and move the plate aside.

There is a hollowed-out space beneath it. There is something small and silver. I pick it up. It is a shape on a long metal chain. I know this shape. Heart, I think. It looks like it opens. I use my thumbnail to pry the two sides apart.

Inside, there is a picture of a person with long blond hair and gentle eyes, full of life. I gasp and drop the locket.

---

I am 91829.

I am walking. I am breathing. I am sitting down in my seat, which is marked with my number. This is my Machine.

There is a Worker sitting across from me. They have blond hair and kind eyes. Their mouth is set into a firm line, and they are looking right at me. They look determined and unafraid. And angry.

For a moment, I forget to press. I forget to lift. My breath catches in my throat.

“Do you remember me?” they ask.

I press. I lift. I look around the room. The Guardians are standing by the doorway, but they don’t seem to notice us.

I nod. “91423.”

They clench their jaw. “No,” they growl. “Do you really remember me?”

I look away. I focus on the metal of the machine, the gentle lavender smell of the Mist wafting through the room. I think hard. I sense clouds of forgotten memories swirling around the back of my head. I press. I lift.

There is something. There is a vague recollection. Shifting colors. A sense of loss and dread. I reach for the memory, but it falls away from me.

I press. I lift. I look at the machine again. There is water on my face. I’m crying. Crying? What is crying? Press, lift.

I look back up. They are still looking at me fiercely.

I shake my head. I can’t remember.

---

I crouch beside my bed and discover a metal plate with a screw loose. Underneath it, there is a tarnished silver heart-shaped locket on a chain. The back of the locket reads “Always and forever.” Inside the locket, there is a picture of 91423.

A picture of…

I look down into the hollow space. There’s something else there too. A little fold of white. Paper. I reach for it. It’s small, no bigger than the size of my palm.

Meet me in the north corner of the Atrium at 11:08. Don’t be afraid. Always and forever.

The handwriting is straight and regular. No sense of hesitation. No urgency, and no fear.

Time ticks by slowly. I pace around my room.

The clock reads 11:07. I watch the seconds tick by. 30, 31, 32.

At exactly 11:08, I open the door a crack. No one is on the walkway. I can hear the Mist, always running its lavender course across the doorway on the far end of the corridor. I don’t see any Guardians. I shut the door behind me softly, and creep, as quickly and quietly as possible, towards the right, down the metal stairs, and onto the first floor. The Atrium stretches for ten stories above me, a wall of translucent glass on one side and rows of rooms on the other.

I hear a noise to my right. There, in the far corner under a shadow, is 91423.

“You got my note,” they say approvingly.

“I did.”

“We don’t have much time.”

“Who are you?”

Their face sets into that same determined expression. They look angry and sad at the same time. They look weary and resigned. They look ready.

“Do you really want to know?”

I nod.

They sigh. “It will hurt. It might be better for you not to remember. Are you sure you want to do this?”

I think about my vague recollections. The general sense of loss and pain. The locket, the note, the desire to know.

“Yes.”

They kneel down in front of a door that I had not noticed. They pull out something from their pocket—A pin? A knife?—and pry at the lock. The door swings outward.

A sweltering heat hits me. There is a stench, unnameable, something like fire and death.

They walk out the door and hold out their hand to me. I take it. Their palm feels warm, reassuring, and familiar.

“Look,” they say.

I look.

I look upon the desolation. The ruins of a city, burned, exploded. It is dark, but from over the horizon, there comes the faint light of fire. There is no green, no life. There is ash, like that from a volcano, and charred remains of whatever used to be.

Memory comes barreling towards me like a boulder. I double over as the scenes flash through my head. Explosions. Chemical warfare. Disease. The Event. My parents, my sister, my friends, suffering in tortured agony while their bodies ate them alive. Me, living, and not knowing why. Me, running to where I thought it was safe, and being taken. Clutching the locket in my fist and remembering, wondering where they were.

Whether I would ever see them again. Whether they were alive.

There is no air left in me. They hold me tight while the waves crash.

I remember how we met. I remember how we grew up together, how we fell in love. I remember the wars, the explosions, the disease. I remember how we kept on living, despite it all. I remember that they were always stronger than me. I remember how much I love them. I remember their name.

But I also remember my family dying. I remember the bodies of animals and the jagged remains of my city. I remember everything, and it’s too much.

“The Mist,” I gasp. “The Mist makes us forget all this.”

They nod.

“Why didn’t you forget?” I wail.

They shake their head. “I don’t know.”

I become aware of hands on my back, prying me away from them. I want to hold on, but I’m too tired. It hurts too much. Make it stop. Make it stop.

There are Guardians all around us now. They gently separate us and lead us inside. It is cooler. It smells like lavender.

The Guardians are leading me down the corridor. I hear a gentle hiss. Like a quiet stream, like a delicate summer shower. The curtain closes around me.

I walk through the doorway in relief.

---

I am 91829.

I am walking. I am breathing. I am sitting down in my seat, which is marked with my number.

I work here at the Factory. There are other Workers around me. We are allowed to talk, if we want to, but usually, no one does. What do you talk about when you don’t remember?

My job is to press a button and lift a lever. It’s uncomplicated. It’s calm.

The alarm sounds at 5:00. I join a single-file line and wait for the signal to walk through the doorway.

The person ahead of me has gentle blond hair. Something seems familiar about them.

We walk forward, through the Mist.