Every year, it's at least someone's birthday. When their reach fifteen, they are entered in a bin. The bin is full of names in gold envelopes containing people's names who are fourteen years old exceeding through nineteen years old. For the past few years, I have lost members of my family and old friends who supported me along the way. The depressing sorrow that our government has brought us will never end.
Yesterday we were broken. Today we are tortured. Tomorrow we are wrecked.
"So, today's the day, right? It's Class Day." My mother was preparing my side bag unusually slow.
"Guess so." I grab an apple and rub it against my dirty, brown leather jacket. "Not too hyped for it. You?" She looks up at me with a pair of annoyed eyes.
"I'm not in the age range and never have been chosen. What do I have to worry for.." This time, I give her the 'that doesn't help me' face.
"That doesn't give me anything to root for." I walk out the gate grabbing my bag swiftly away from her clutch and swinging it onto my left shoulder. Nowhere else to travel, I run around whipping my side-fishtail braid turning my head at various directions looking for the hollow willow tree, as usual.
I sigh forcefully as I slide my hand feeling the tree's bare bark and hearing the crisp sound that crackles when i pull a couple leaves from it's stem. This is the way I'd desire the world to be. The peaceful sounds the breeze brings wisping through the black-ish brown strands of my hair.
This tree has been my true hiding spot. It's the only location where freedom exists. Not only freedom is roaming wildly here, I could practice. My eyes catch to the pile of rocks near the lake, then I pry three rocks revealing a belt loaded with knives. It's silly to think I hide these, but if the government realizes I'm a fugitive from the city, they'll cut of the tip of my tongue or even worse.
I throw some knives at a few squirming lizards and ducks. Suddenly, there was a crack of a footstep in the distance. The next I know I pull a knife from my pocket, and let it fly. Stubbing the side of his left thigh, it was only my childhood friend, Leucale.
"What do you want." I trudge toward him, kicking a few leaves along the way.
"To be in the Heights." He chuckles sarcastically. I tear the knife implanted deep onto the ground where it had fallen.
"Everybody wants to be up there. They would even kill someone for it." I shake the palm of the hand softly then rotate my wrist clockwise.
"So when does it start?" We gather around the balled up roots of the tree.
"Couple hours." My head turns away to the other side where he was not in. A single tear fell on my cheek.
"Look, everything will be okay. How many envelopes did they issue on you? They sent a letter in the mail, right?" He put his elbow resting onto my shoulder.
"I don't know, like nine times." I brush the tear aside wanting to just stab the knife into the center of my heart.
"Ah. Well, if it makes you feel better I have my envelope in the bin thirteen times." He looks up at the passing birds. One got stuck. I pictured the bird as him, because he's stuck in this horrible world, in this horrible game, in this horrible life.
"I better go now. I don't want to let the Pacers waiting." I stand up throwing my bag over my shoulder once again and brush my thighs from the dirt. "Put away the knives for me?" He nodded, we hugged exchanging 'i will miss you's, then I left.