The Sanctuary

 

Tablo reader up chevron

One

    The air smells sweet, like honey mixed with wildflowers. Although I’m small I can just see over the tops of the chipping white fence ahead of me. Beyond this fence there is only wilderness – it’s safer that way. Somehow I know this, although I am not entirely sure why. Maybe there are animals out there, or kid eating monsters like the kind that live under the bed. Either way I want to find out. I know that this isn’t right, even if I don’t know why.

    Moving closer to the fence I find a small latch between two slats that hook a single lock into place. If I am not supposed to leave why would it be so easy to open the lock? I take the ease of opening as a sign that I am supposed to go and begin to push open the gate. It sticks at first – probably because nobody has opened it since I can remember – but one good shove sends it creaking open. I am free.

    As I wander through the fields of tall grasses that almost reach up to my neck, I notice something just outside my vision. Perhaps it is the wind, or a small animal rustling through the grass. Whatever it is, it doesn’t concern me. My main focus now is to get to the woods. Here is where my treasure really hides. Of all the places that feel the most sinister, this is the one, and I am determined to get there. So determined that I break into a run as fast as my poorly fitting shoes and child sized legs will carry me. I am so close that I can make out the rust colored pine needles that layer the earth’s surface just beyond the tree line when a sudden force jerks me back, lifting me off my feet in one swoop. I’m screaming and flailing frantically when suddenly I am being shaken violently. “Olivia,” there’s a faint female voice. “Liv, come on!” The voice continues several more times before I understand: It’s Sara, my roommate.

    “Are you planning to lay there all day?” Sara scolded me like a mother. “You’ve got just a few minutes before we have to leave.”

        My heart was still racing from the dream as I pushed myself up onto one elbow, feeling the coldness of a spring pushing back at me. “You’re only one strike away from a meeting, you know that don’t you?” Sara was pulling clothes out the dresser that lay only a couple feet from the end of my bed. Space was a luxury we were not offered here, not with the war dragging on and more children arriving every week.

        “I know,” I tell her, although I also know that this isn’t my fault. After thirteen years surrounded by guards I’ve learned that people always have their favorites – in good ways and bad ways. For whatever crazy reason I just happen to be the favorite of a few guards, and not in the good way. “What station are we at today?” I change the topic knowing that I would otherwise be in for a lecture.

    “Sewing for the rest of the week.” With work rotations changing so frequently the past few months I haven’t made much of an effort to keep track of our assignments. Quite frankly I wasn’t sure why it was necessary to do so anyway; not when we are herded around like sheep on a daily basis. In this system there is no room for error. Provided you are healthy and on time, you are ushered to each segment of your day silently as a group. There is no need for thinking when everything you must do is ordered at you.

    “I have to meet Dan before roll to give him back his task log he left here.” Sara was getting anxious. “Just give me a minute and I’ll go with you,” I said rushing past her into our small bathroom. Hurriedly, I began brushing my teeth and hair without turning towards the mirror. This was something we did here ever since the rebels moved closer to our territory and rations got tight. If we didn’t look in the mirror it was easier to ignore the tightening of skin over cheekbones and increasingly dark shadows under our eyes. This happened sometimes, though. At least every couple of years tensions would rise and we would absorb the ripple effect, but eventually it levels out.

    “You might want to put those on,” Sara pointed a dark finger at my gray-white tennis shoes that lay haphazardly on the floor. “Unless you’d rather go barefoot.”

    “Now there’s an idea.” I grinned mischievously, making only a halfhearted attempt to pick them up. They’re not exactly the most comfortable shoes in the world, but here we are grateful for what we have. Without the help of sanctuaries like this most of us would probably be dead.

    “You know, sometimes I think you try and get yourself into trouble.” Sara half laughed, half scowled. I smiled at her, a big cheeky smile saying, “Well there’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t.”

     “Aside from where it mentions being in the “appropriate uniform at all times?”

     “Ah, number 24,” I tapped my forehead. “How could I forget!” Really, though, I didn’t even need to look at the poster that was plastered to our door like wallpaper, reminding us of each rule, to know which one she referred to. Here the rules were hard to forget. Every year, beginning at the age of eight, we are tested on the rules of conduct and etiquette. Now, as we prepare for our entrance into adulthood with the graduation ceremony, we are expected to know each one in order and be able to recite them at a moment’s notice. Those who fail will remain behind at the end of the ceremony while those who pass move beyond our walls into the safety of The New Nation – a place where there is no war, no hunger, no disease, and everyone lives mindful of how they ought to behave. At least that is what we hear. In reality facts of The New Nation are limited. They tell us things are kept this way so as not to distract us from our education. After all, how will we function in a proper society without knowledge of basic life skills and proper conduct?

      “Come on or we’ll be late.” Sara pulled me out of my daze. She was standing in the door, her dark skin shining in the fluorescent lights of our building.

      Out in the hallway a crowd was beginning to gather with everyone making their way towards the stairwells on either end of our hall. Pushing against the crowd, Sara pulled me along behind her, rushing to make it to Dan’s room before the locks clicked in place for the day, closing off our rooms until evening.

      “I thought you said you would be here at quarter after!” Dan’s door was open just a crack, revealing a sliver of a room identical to ours. “What took you so long?”

     “What do you think?” Sara nodded towards me before tossing Dan’s log book at him. “You know what mornings are like on our end,” she continued as he quickly slipped the log into his dresser before emerging just as a loud click echoed down the halls – the simultaneous locking of dozens of doors. To this Dan said nothing, but instead nodded a slightly awkward nod as if he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. This happened a lot, although it was hard to blame him; how could you not have some confusion about your thoughts when every hour of every day was filled with someone else telling you how to think? Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we hadn’t been rescued. Life on the outside was far from easy, but at least there is some freedom for those lucky enough to escape the war. Unfortunately survivors are few and far between according to the statistics published on the announcement screens in our cafeteria every Sunday evening at dinner time. Here we see the death tolls rise as turmoil that began with our great grandparents rages on. Despite these facts, though, I can’t help but wonder if there might be something good happening in all of the bad. If there is I’d like to find it.

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Two

                Being so close to a meeting with the guards, and potentially the headmaster, makes me nervous. I’ve never had a solo run with the guards before but I sincerely doubt it’s fun. The guards here are one thing, but the headmaster is something else entirely.  Headmaster Millhouse has the power to make your life miserable, or as rumors have it end your life. Although nobody knows for certain what happens when meeting with the headmaster there are certainly plenty of rumors, the most common being that he personally ends the life of everyone who goes missing from The Sanctuary. I would rather not have that be the way my life ends.

                “God, that’s disgusting!” Sara sits across from me at breakfast, pulling a long hair out of my watery oatmeal.

                “At least it isn’t your breakfast,” I say, pushing the bowl a few inches away to where Dan sits. He looks tired – more so than usual. His dark green eyes hold a milky tint as they rest above black puffs of sleeplessness. It’s clear that I am not the only one who has trouble sleeping at night. “If you don’t mind I’ll take it.” He pulled it closer to himself and smirked. “Last week there was a fly in mine but that didn’t stop me.” He winked, taking a bite of the mush.

                “You can have mine too, I’ll suffer to lunch.” Sara grimaced at her bowl and slid it down the table.

                “You need to eat something eventually.” Dan was looking at me, although the statement was directed at both of us. “That makes three days this week you two have skipped a meal?” I didn’t respond, although I knew he was right. With all of the ration cuts the last few months it has become nearly impossible to eat much of anything. The food wasn’t great to begin with, but at least it had flavor. Lately I haven’t been hungry anyway – my mind was far too preoccupied for that with so many changes coming. We were only six months away from the graduation ceremony, which meant six months before we had to take the test that would determine whether we join The New Nation or stay behind. Unfortunately for those who stay behind there is a tendency to never pass and remain in The Sanctuary forever as cooks and cleaners. I know from years of memorization and testing that I will pass, but there is always that little piece of doubt that wonders if I really can make it through.

                Another alarm sounded – one of dozens we would hear throughout the day – signaling for us to clean our trays and line up for another roll. I’m not sure why they think there is the potential for someone to go missing between arriving in the cafeteria and the end of a meal, but we take count nonetheless. For some reason it takes up longer than usual to line up, leading me to stand against the peeling walls in irritation as people who have been doing this for years seemingly forget where they are supposed to be. Things were supposed to move along quickly here with roll taking only a few moments as they verify the count and usher us on to our daily work stations.

                “Class A proceed to the Gathering Hall.” The head guard’s voice echoed through the cafeteria, seeming to shake everything it touched. That’s not right, I thought. We were supposed to go to work in Building C after roll, not to the Gathering Hall. The only thing we ever go to the Hall for are the weekly status reports on the war.

                “Did I miss something?” I whispered to Sara, although there was no response. There are three rules to follow during role: stand up straight, arms at our sides, and absolutely no talking. The last one was not my strong point.

                “Something you’d like to share?” Anderson’s face was only inches from mine, although his voice was loud enough to be heard from outside of the building.

                “Nothing, sir.” I kept my face neutral as we are taught when responding to authority.

                “That’s another point.” His bald head reflected the fluorescent lighting as he bent down to match my level. Standing at 6’2” compared to my 5’ nothing made him look almost comical bending so low. “Lucky for you,” he continued, “we are on a tight schedule today. Don’t worry, though, you’ll get your time soon.” I continued to show no emotion as he glared at me, his nearly black eyes drilling a hole right into my soul. I wanted so badly to snap back at him; after all, I had very little left to lose. Fortunately for me there was no time – we were already being ushered towards the Gathering Hall and it was my turn to move.

                Single file, we were led next door to the only brick building in the compound. Years ago, before the compound existed this building was some sort of public building. Now, though, it stands as the only beautiful thing we have. Many of its bricks have come loose and been filled in with cement, but those that remain hold the beauty of a time long past. Inside the walls have been plastered over to create a smooth surface with the standard coating of fray paint. All that was left of the interior’s original state was the harshly worn wooden floor and matching stage that stood at the back of the long, narrow room.

                Atop the stage sat a single podium, bolted to the floor, where Headmaster Millhouse stands to watch as we file in. Behind him stand the familiar posters that plaster at least one wall of every building: the manual of conduct printed out larger than life. If the headmaster was good at anything it was making sure we all had constant reminders of the rules.

                “Today’s schedule has been altered to accommodate this meeting.” Anderson’s microphone screeched as he spoke. “Headmaster Millhouse will address you now.” He stepped off to the side, blending in with the line of guards blocking the wall that held our exit.

                “Good morning.” Headmaster Millhouse leaned heavily on a wooden cane, appearing to be well over a hundred years old when in reality he wasn’t even through his sixties yet. “As you know you have reached the end of your time here at The Sanctuary and will soon join The New Nation to begin a better life for the future of our country. Because of this it is time to prepare for your new positions in the Nation. Each of you will be given an assignment where you will contribute to the Nation and the betterment of your neighbors. Once this assignment is received training will begin immediately. Do not fear, though, for your placements have been carefully selected after years of observation and careful thought. Each of you is uniquely suited to fill the position which has been selected for you.

                “Of course there would be no Nation without people to fill it, and for this reason we require each of you to select a mate within the next six months of your training. Evening classes will be devoted to special tasks in developing and running a household. As part of this you will be allowed to practice various decision making activities with several potential mates before making your selection. Keep in mind that this will be the person you must live with for the remainder of your lives, so choose wisely.” He smiled, though it looked far from friendly. That was something that could never be said about Headmaster Millhouse; no matter how hard he tried he always appeared to look as if he were scowling.

                “Please listen carefully now as Mr. Anderson reads your new assignments. Once your name is called and assignment read proceed to your designated area.” As he spoke the guards lined up behind us unrolled large signs with various titles on them identifying who belonged where.

                As the names began I felt a strange sense of unease. Change has never been something anyone in The Sanctuary experienced. Everything from the clothes we wear to the time we go to bed and what food we eat has been selected for us without change. Many of us imagined what things would be like if they had been done differently and fantasized about these possibilities, but now the reality of what was happening made my stomach rise into my throat.

                Between Sara, Dan, and myself, Dan was the first to be called. Construction. I guess I could see that. He was always good at fixing things and flourished whenever work groups were created to repair an ailing building. With any luck this will be something that he enjoys.

                Sara was next, then me. As they called Sara’s name and assigned her to infant care I was relieved for her, but increasingly nervous for my own selection. So far they had all been fitting, which made me question whether or not I was freaking out for no reason. Then it was my turn. “6210,” they called out my identification number. “Field hand.” 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like Erin Brender's other books...