The Choosing

A heart shaped locket. That is what Alex remembered about the man. She could not recall his name, his face, what he was wearing, but she could remember that locket. It was the way he held it, its chain wrapped around his hand and through his fingers, as though he were afraid of losing it. She remembered how he had kissed it when his name was called at last year’s Choosing, as though all his hope and luck resided in that small piece of dinted silver. Alex knew better. There was no hope for those picked by the Choosing, no luck for the people selected to go outside. And yet, every year, on the fourth day of the seventh month, everyone gathered inside the town square and awaited the governor for that year’s Choosing Ceremony, to decide who would leave the safety of the community, to see who would venture outside the wall’s protective embrace. The governor claimed it was vital for their future, that they had to find other survivors in the wastes, other communities like theirs. Alex knew that was stupid. There were no other communities, there were no other survivors. Anyone who was still out in that bleak, barren nothingness was dead. She had seen enough ceremonies, seen enough people leave and never come back, to know that much. There was nothing.

The morning bell chimed, signaling the start of a new day, and all visions of lockets and pointless ceremonies fled from Alex’s mind. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the four walls she called home. It had once been a restroom, but had long ceased to function. The idea of plumbing was so ridiculous she assumed it must be true. Many things of the old world baffled her. Cars, airplanes, underground trains, electricity. Apparently, before the world was burned, people had lived in places called cities, forests of stone and steel capable of sustaining millions. Alex could not even wrap her head around that. Her own community numbered little more than a thousand individuals, piled upon one another in the ever dwindling space within the wall. Even that many felt like too many to her, with resources growing scarcer every year, and their community continuing to grow. The people in the old world must have been gods, to run such an absurdly large society, to feed so many people.

Alex groaned and sat up on her bedroll. She did not want to get up. To be honest, she would have loved nothing more than to sleep, to live in a world of dreams, and never wake. But she had to get up. It was the day of the Choosing. Despite all her dreams, all her hopes, it had come again. The fourth day of the seventh month, and it was once again a day of celebration. Everyone would be required to attend, everyone would be expected to participate, or suffer the penalty. Right now the entire community would be at work, dozens, even hundreds of individuals preparing for the day’s events. People preparing banners and signs, all manner of colorful decorations. People baking bread and sweet rolls, piping hot apples and roasted chickens. Anyone with musical talent would be practicing the songs of the old world, tuning their old, worn instruments to play the anthems the governor had selected. And, of course, the governor would be working on his speech, such as it was. Frivolous, superficial, hollow. Spouting on for twenty minutes about honor, duty, the glory of the wall, and the good of the community. Alex knew the truth was much simpler. There were too many of them. Too many mouths to feed, too many people to shelter, dressed up as an extravagant festival they could not afford. But telling hard truths was not popular. In a world of misery, scarcity, toil, and death, people preferred lies over facts, celebration over sense.

Alex ran a hand through her long black hair, a tangled mess from sleep, and pulled on some loose fitting, functional clothes. Nothing fancy, there was no point to bright colors or flashy styles. She was not that kind of girl, she did not cling to a forgotten world, she did not deny that the end had come. Alex went to one of the mirrors on the wall, the only one not shattered or caked in filth, and looked over her face. She was greeted by a frowning young girl with disinterested, sullen blue eyes, long, ill-kempt hair, and pretty features dampened by misery. She ran a hand through her hair again, doing little to tame the dysfunctional mess. Sighing, she turned away and went to one of the stalls in the room that she used as a closet, retrieving a tattered black backpack older than she was. Inside was a wide assortment of rocks, buttons, coins, beads, rings, and other baubles that most people overlooked while scavenging. Not Alex. She had made a business of it, and there were no shortage of people willing to trade for a pretty trinket to brighten the dull and colorless monotony of life inside the wall. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, Alex left the room and went out into the adjoining hallway. Carefully she locked the door behind her, using a magnet to gently pull the bolt into place on the other side. She stuffed the magnet into her pocket and made her way down the hall. As she walked, she passed by forgotten, disused food stands, posters of long dead athletes, trophy cases. Among these relics of the old world were crudely built shacks, the dwellings of her community. Most of them were empty at the moment, their owners already hard at work preparing for the Choosing Ceremony. Alex was late, but that was nothing new. There was no rule that said she had to be the first one there, and as long as she showed up by the second bell they would not waste time finding her. The whole thing was ridiculous. Still, she did not want to push her luck, and hurried along a little faster.

After a time, she came to the entrance to the inner section of the community, a concrete tunnel leading up a short flight of stairs and out to open sunlight. She took the stairs three at a time, coming to a stop at the top, and looked out over the great expanse of wooden and scrap metal buildings. Shops, dwellings, the governor’s office, the apple orchard. Everything stacked and crowded atop and around each other, built within the protective embrace of the wall. Apparently it had once been something called a stadium, a place where thousands of people came to watch a game called Footballs. Looking once again at the immense size of the all encircling wall, Alex still could not believe that the old world would build such an extraordinary structure just for entertainment. She shook her head, and continued down the stands, making her way to the town square.

The second bell chimed right as Alex made it to the square, the last to arrive, squeezing in amongst the throng that was already gathered. “Cutting it close as usual, I see,” snipped Mrs. Miller, her mouth Downturned disapprovingly. Alex just rolled her eyes and moved further into the crowd. Up above everyone else, in his usual spot, was Governor Westfield, standing atop a tall wooden platform set up specifically for the day’s events. Westfield was a well spoken, charismatic figure, always very well dressed, clad in the rich styles of the old world. However, Alex always thought he seemed a bit too pompous, his words less than sincere, and the fact that he was perhaps the only fat man in a starving world never sat well with her. Westfield smiled out at the crowd. His numerous chins wobbled as he looked about at those gathered, perhaps making sure everyone was present. After a time, he lifted his arms, calling for silence.

“My fellow citizens of the wall! I, Governor Westfield, your chosen representative, am pleased to welcome all of you to the 31st annual Choosing Ceremony!” Westfield declared loudly, a wave of applause following his words. He waited a moment for it to die down, then continued. “Our humble community was established during the time of fire! We found shelter within its firm embrace, and its walls have safeguarded us from the ravages of this new world ever since!” More applause, but Westfield did not pause, continuing on as the cheering slowly swelled. “And they will continue to protect us as we go forth into the future! Long live the wall! Long live our community!” The crowd was going wild at this point, everyone voicing praises to the wall, the governor, their community. Alex just rolled her eyes. It was too much excitement, too much sentiment for her. Westfield waited for the uproar to die down, his smile infectious as he drank in the applause. “However, we cannot close out the world indefinitely, we cannot shut out the people who may be out there. As we celebrate the 31st year of our Choosing Ceremony, we must decide who among us will brave the scorched wastes, which of us will seek out other survivors, other settlements like ours. Our community must make connections with the outside world if we are to grow and continue to survive this new world,” said Westfield, rambling on as usual. Alex wished he would just get on with it.

Westfield continued on for what felt like an eternity, but, after some time, he concluded his speech. “Now, let us get on with this year’s choosing!” declared Westfield, sweeping his arm to the side as Gregory Hitchkins, the oldest man in the Wall, and honorary keeper, came up the platform carrying the Choosing Hat. It was nothing special, just a dingy old Tophat, so worn it looked grey, but at one time was probably black. Hitchkins placed the hat reverently onto the stand in front of Westfield, setting it so that its brim was facing up. Inside were the names of every eligible person in the community, written upon torn pieces of paper. Westfield’s hand hovered over the hat a moment, then plunged in, retrieving the first name. “Howard Fulley!” he cried, reading the paper. Everyone cheered, congratulating Howard, yet the man looked like he was going to be sick. Alex knew people were only celebrating because it was not their own name. Westfield drew another name. “Anita Miller!” Alex could not help but feel a little relieved, she had never been on good terms with Mrs. Miller.

More names were called, each one met with cheers, but Alex was not listening. “Alex Kings!” Alex looked up sharply. Her name? Her name had been called? Out of hundreds of people, she had been chosen. Her heart sank to her feet. She remembered suddenly, the man from last year, the man with the heart shaped locket. How she had scorned him for putting his hope in a piece of tarnished silver. But now, more than anything, she wished she had something, something she could hold onto, something to bring her hope. Yet, she had nothing. What had been inside the locket, she now wondered. A picture of his wife? Perhaps his children? Or had it been empty? A simple trinket he had found scavenging one day? Alex had never cared to know, but now it was all she could think about. More than anything, however, she wished for her own trinket, her own piece of hope. Suddenly, she remembered the magnet in her pocket. She pulled it out, looking it over for what felt like the first time. It was a simple thing, long and rectangular, red on one side, blue on the other. Yes, this could be her symbol, this could be her hope. With this she could journey into the burning wastes. She held it tightly in her hand, not wanting to drop it, and stood a little taller.