“Are you sure you want to go ahead and take it?”
“Yes I am.”
“The only information that you have is that the people who took it are still alive. It’s a new thing, they don’t even know what the side effects are. You don’t even know to what extent it’s been tested.”
“I know that the people who took it had less time than I had and that they’re still alive and show no symptoms at all. I have a year if I don’t take it. Even if something goes wrong and I end up with a side effect that they just don’t know about yet, it’s still better then dying. The fact that you and my parents have made peace with my dying doesn’t mean that I have to go gently into the night and just accept it. Don’t get me wrong, my sessions with Pastor Frank have helped me to walk through this with faith, but it’s not good enough for me. I can’t just accept that dying is the only option that I have. Look at them. They’re healthy.“
He didn’t tell her about what Chris and Beth said after they took it. He didn’t even know whether he believed them anyway. He didn’t think that it would be that bad. The thing with Sail is that it’s a once off treatment. You drink one glass of it and that’s it, you can’t go back.
He took it.
As soon as he swallowed the last drop, he saw them. For a long time he was ok with that. They were just there. They didn’t speak to him or do anything. It was the same with Chris and Beth.
The day that one of them touched him things changed. Why can they touch him? He understood that seeing them everywhere was the price that he had to pay to stay alive. But when they touched him it felt like his blood curdled. What if they start touching him all the time. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the Sail.
It started the day that the air was punctured.
No one really knows where the poison came from. We are the ones left. Our emotions stayed on.
At first they couldn’t determine what the results would cause. The economies of the world stabilized indefinitely and the money flowed like water, even in the most destitute countries. But that wasn’t enough to prevent the moral fiber from disintegrating.
Before all the children were eaten, they quarantined us and started calling us the protected ones. After Tommy tried to escape and a few of us saw what they did to him, no one ever tried to escape again.
The one theory was that we were busy dying out because we were below the new order. We were going extinct because emotions are considered weakness by everyone else.
The rest of them are so cold. In that cold lives the devil. What the others don’t realise even though we tried to tell them was that this is the end. The dark one switched their hearts off and now there’s only money. They don’t understand. The treaty is the only thing that’s keeping us alive. They’re trying to get it repealed because they believe that we don’t serve a purpose. I’m not scarred that they will succeed. I know that when they kill us, the angels will come for us and the devil will come and live here with them.
I long for the day when you will be gone.
Gone in your entirety.
No lingering smell.
No memories of possibilities not chosen.
Death wouldn’t be enough.
Perhaps, if I knew God better than I do now, I would long for better things.
I would long to reconcile my heart and place myself in your shoes and understand your reasons.
I would long for the ability to forgive.
I would long for scars to heal without a seam.
I would long for the blood boiling fury of your claim on me to hold no power, only peace.
I would long for acceptance.
Instead of attempts at trying to erase the trace of you, suffocating me, I chose to live instead.
Living is what I chose.
Recently my mother told me that she ran into my old teacher, Mrs. Isaacs, who told her to give me a hug. For many reasons Mrs. Isaacs was my favourite teacher. One incident stands out far from the rest. In response to the Daily Post’s writing challenge on “Transcripts” this post is about the one day with Mrs. Isaacs that still stays with me, even now.
It was 1996, a new school had opened very close to my home, so I had all new teachers. I was 11 years old. I was an overweight child and had never been good at any form of physical activity. At the beginning of every school year, students would compete against each other in different sports activities which would them lead to the winners from different schools competing against each other at inter school sports days. Participation in sorting the wheat from the chaff for these events was compulsory for everyone. This included me, with all my extra bread rolls.
By this time, whenever running was required in years gone by I would be last across the finish line. I had reconciled myself to this inevitable reality. Enter Mrs Isaacs. A woman who ran miles every single morning for what seemed like her entire life. Before we take our marks, she explains that running is only ten percent legs and the other ninety percent is in your mind. She explains this with such graceful conviction that somehow, I actually believe her. In this simple act of believing, I run. I really and truly run. When I stop and look around me, behind me even, I am not last. Never mind the fact that I am not last, there are other children who are thinner than I am, who crossed the finish line after me. I stood there, flabbergasted.