Sarah Scott Journalist

Weathered

Lately the weather has been strange. Scary. The Core have been experiencing problems with their machine. I can see the building where they keep it from my attic window. It’s the biggest building in our city, located right in the centre of it. The fact that they have been having difficulties explains why the wind suddenly picked up on the night when I went walking out on my own. I have no idea how they control the sky, but if our futures dependent on it then they need to sort it quick.

The last time the machine started playing up, the banned colour in the city. I just hope they don’t find something else to take away from us. They told us that red makes you angry, green makes you jealous, blue makes you depressed and yellow makes you happy. I don’t know why they would ban a colour that makes you happy but they did and supposedly it has reduced crime rates.

My favourite colour used to be purple. I was eleven when they took all the colours away. They stormed into our house and took everything that had colour, which was most of our house. That was the start of my mother’s slow decline. She faded away along with the colour in our city. She saved me a purple ribbon which I used to tie in my hair though. I still have it under my pillow in my room. I tie it in my hair sometimes when I’m alone, remembering how bright colours used to be. I think that’s why I love the orchard, it’s the only place left in our city that has colour in the flowers.

This morning I woke up to a freak storm. It was thundering and lightning while it was sunny. Bizarre. Nothing about it looked controlled to me.

Alex walks me to school every morning since that night when we fought. We don’t really talk on the way. We both have things on our minds.

On our walk this morning he told me that he’s been having a hard time at work. He said this was the reason why he has been different the past couple of weeks. I never realised being a painter could be so strenuous. He apologises for being cold and gives me a hug when he knows no one can see us. He walks me all the way to the school gates. He still doesn’t trust me enough to get there by myself.

I walk to my form room, still feeling his eyes on me. As I walk through the bare corridors, people give me strange looks. They probably all thought that I was absent because of my messed-up head. I don’t care though. They can think what they like.

I hadn’t been to school for weeks before Alex dragged me back. They probably thought I was dead. School is so pointless for me. I can never concentrate or even look enthusiastic when working.

Nothing’s changed. The same grey, dull classrooms. The same blank, boring students. I can’t wait until I’m eighteen next year and I will never have to come here again. I will never have to eat the processed school meals again or get taught everyday about how amazing The Core is protecting our city.

The Core is so idolised, yet I have never met a core worker. I’ve only ever seen representative that give speeches.

After a painful hour of watching all the girls that hate me play volleyball, the bell rings and exercise class is over. Next lesson, history.

I actually find history interesting even though the only topic we do is the One Week War. Our history lessons remind me of the sacrifice of our colourful city and of the freedom of Mother Nature. Since these sacrifices, our city has been living in what are ancestors would call poor standards, but we’re living peacefully. The Core plan on changing the living conditions soon but they say their most important job is to control the weather then controlling us.

When lunch arrives, I go to the cafeteria and collect some grey slop served to me. I ate breakfast this morning knowing I would be skipping lunch. I take my tray with me and sit down as far away from a group of girls in my year. I don’t know their exact names and I don’t need to. I just know I don’t want to engage in any contact with them.

I move my food around my plate keeping an eye on the time. Time seems to go on forever when you’re in this hell hold. Something hits me on the back of the head. I turn around to see what it was and can see it can from the group of girls I was avoiding. It wasn’t the grey slop thankfully, just an eaten apple core. I turn back around, rising above their petty games, but I hear footsteps walking towards me so I try and focus on my plate.

“Oi freak! Surprised you’re not at the hospital,” one of the girls’ remarks. I can hear her voice getting closer. I try to swallow but my mouth is so dry. I can see in the reflection from my spoon that she has a tray full of grey slop balanced between her hands. She gets close enough for me to hear her breathing. I don’t turn my head yet. I can see her arm is pulling back ready to throw the grey sludge at me. When the time is right, I duck my head, letting the grey slop hit the wall in front of me. The room goes silent. I am eternally grateful for reflective cutlery. 

I turn round seeing the colour red rush to the girl’s face. Not out of embarrassment her stunt didn’t work, but out of frustration. I get up taking my tray with me so she can’t go back and get it. I tip its contents into the bin and head for the exit. Everyone’s eyes are on me and I feel my cheeks go hot. The girl is walking to block my path. I stop in front of her.

“You’re crazy!” she spits out. “You shouldn’t be here. No wonder your mum killed herself.”

Anger rises from places I didn’t know existed, deep within my body. My breathing is becoming unsteady and panicked, like the night I went out after hours. Then the anger hits her – hard in the jaw – making her cry out in pain. Everyone around me gasps. I surprised everyone including myself. She looks stunned and angry.

Everything is silent. I’m about to go for another hit when a body stands in my way and a hand stops my mid-air fist. I don’t look up to see who the body belongs to. I stay focussed on the stunned bitch behind the body.

“She’s not worth it. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” the stranger says. I look up to see a strong, handsome looking boy standing in front of me. He’s right, she’s not worth it. I decide to trust a complete stranger. His hair is a light brown with slight curls in them. His eyes are as blue as my mother’s had been. I haven’t seen his face before but when he catches me staring, he allows me to slide my wrist from his delicate grip. Because he is quite tall, I stand face to face with his chest.

“Come on, get out of here before a supervisor sees you,” he says calmly yet so strong. He walks me out of the exit door with his hand pressed against my back and it lingers there even when he removes it.

“Thank you,” I say to him as he lets me leave towards my next lesson. He gives me a smile that makes me feel a little better. I don’t see any supervisors around so they may have not seen that. I have no doubt that the girl I just punched in the jaw will go and tell one but for now, I’m alright. Supervisors are the people who run the school, like The Core to our city. They don’t have a specific leader, but they all teach a certain subject and run the school together.

Two hours later, school is over and I can go home. I walk towards the school gates and see Alex waiting for me. I don’t really mind. It’s nice to see him after the eventful day.

As I walk closer, I give him a smile that eventually fades. I focus on him instead of scanning the area for the girl I punched. His smile lasts until I’m twenty metres away from him.

There are screams coming from behind me and the sounds of screeching tyres from the road behind Alex. Alex’s smile fades completely. He starts running towards me, calling my name. I turn my head to work out the confusion around me. People are running, knocking into me. I stumble around being knocked from one body to the other. I can still hear Alex shouting my name, so I turn round to him and start towards his body making its way through the crowd of people.

There is some sort of smoke or gas spreading rapidly around the school site. People are coughing and chocking, trying to get away from it. My head is getting fuzzy, probably from inhaling the fumes. Alex. Get to Alex. I can’t see beyond the smoke. As I try to walk forward in hope of finding him, I feel someone grab me with forceful arms.

I try to struggle free, confused as to why someone is picking me up. I kick my legs and try to scratch the person’s arms in a hope they’ll release me. I barely have time to panic before something is injected into the side of my neck, making my entire body relax. I can feel the calm spreading through every single one of my muscles, despite the chaos happening everywhere.

I can hear Alex again calling my name. I try to search the chaos, hoping to find his comforting eyes. His voice still calls for me until everything goes silent. Are these my senses letting me down? Or, has something happened to Alex? I can’t make sense of anything. Whose arms am I in? Where are they carrying me? Where is Alex among the smoke?

There is a tight grip round my wrists as I am thrown into the back of a black truck. I can’t move them. Whoever these people are, they don’t want me leaving in a hurry. The truck is ice cold. I scramble myself upright, trying to make the blurriness a bit more bearable. There are other people in here with me. Maybe three or four. Right now, my senses are failing me and blackness descends.

I’m running again. This time what I’m running from is visible. A man. I know his face from somewhere but can’t place a name. That’s when he jumps, knocking me to my feet. I fall, landing with a thud. As I try to scramble up again, I am knocked back down. He starts for me, ripping at my clothes and putting his hands around my neck. As I gasp for air, I use my last bit of energy to try and push him away. It’s too late. Oxygen is being taken away from my brain. The hands after many painful seconds lose their strength and the body of the man falls to the ground. I am not dead. He is. The painful grip is released and air can re-enter my lungs. Someone has saved me.

I wake up with a jolt, staring into the eyes of the boy who spoke to me in the school dining hall – the boy who stopped me from seriously hurting the girl who I had just punched. We both share a look of paralysing fear and dread. I look over at the other two people in the truck. They’re both unconscious, I’m guessing from the same drug that knocked me out. It must have been strong. That’s the most I’ve seen of my dream. It sends a shiver down my spine as to what it might mean.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice sounds weaker than it did when we first spoke.

“No, I’m okay. I think,” I reply surprised anything came out my mouth at all. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I haven’t actually just been strangled. “What the hell is going on?” I ask knowing that he will know as much as I do. Nothing.

“I wish I knew,” he says, his voice cracking a bit at the end. He looks over at the other two who are still unconscious. There is silence for a while as I focus on the sound of the others breathing, trying to steady mine to the same pace.

“Why have you not been at school lately?” he asks. I’m shocked because he’s trying to make conversation and also the fact he has noticed I haven’t been there. I don’t even know him but he seems to know me.

“Surely you’ve heard I’ve been in the hospital?” I ask. He seems to know me so well, why would he ask that?

“Yes, I had, but I’ve seen you walking down that hidden path that goes to the orchard.” I give him a look of utter shock. My mouth falls open. I thought no one knew about the orchard except me.

“You know about…the orchard?” I ask. “I thought no one knew about it.”

“They just block it out of their memory. Like they don’t want it to exist,” he says. “I always used to go down there to swim. I don’t really get chance to go anymore. I’m guessing that’s where you’ve been.”

I never realised anyone else knew about the orchard. I always used to think I was the only one. If other people knew about it, how come it wasn’t burnt to the ground with the rest of the colour in our city?

“Yes, on the few occasions I wasn’t in hospital, I would be down at the orchard.” My lips slightly part and if I wasn’t in the back of a truck, being taken to an unknown destination, it would be a smile. “You miss it?” I ask.

“The orchard? Yes, more than ever!”

“No, I meant colour,” I say, and he looks shocked at the word.

“Colour? I haven’t seen colour since I was last in the orchard, which was a long time ago.”

“Well…” I say. “If we ever make it back home, I will have to take you there.”

“I might just take you up on that.” He gives a painful smile and I see the glint of water in his eyes. Neither of us knows what will happen to us or why we have been taken. Silence buzzes in the truck and I focus my attention back to the others breathing and the sound the tyres make on the road. After what seems like hours, the truck slows down, eventually coming to a stop.

“Pretend like you’re still out of it, trust me. They’re less likely to hurt you,” he says. Weirdly I do trust the handsome stranger who may have just saved me again. Although this time it won’t be from me. I should have asked his name. I may never see him again.

I close my eyes and hear the sound of bodies being dragged out. Forceful arms drag me out, letting my knees skim the floor. I feel stones grate my knee caps as we move towards a white building. I squint my eyes trying to find the stranger, wondering where he is.

We enter the white building and I am taken into a pristine white room that contains prison cells. It’s so white. I wonder what amount of effort it takes to clean this facility.

I’m thrown into a cell with chains on the walls. The stranger is already in the same cell as me but connected to these chains. I’m guessing the same fate awaits me. I am handed over to another guard who jams my hands into them. They’re freezing. Despite my thick grey and white school dress, I shiver everywhere as I feel the cold spread through my body.

I look up at the guard who is adjusting the chains. I meet eye to eye with him, hoping to find some form of guilt or regret for what he is doing. I don’t find anything. He slaps me across the face making warmth spreads through my cheek and I see him smile. He leaves, locking the cell behind him.

I look over at the stranger whose nose is bleeding. They probably realised he was faking being drugged up. Who are these people? What information do they think I have? What do I have in common with anyone else in these cells?  

I am not a peace defier nor do I believe anyone else here is.

When workers of some kind enter each of our cells, only then do I realise what they intended to do with us.       

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Read Chapter Three – Pain