The Fish Bowl

I just wanted to make you proud, one last time if not the only time. I thought it’d a great honor to give my life for The Community, that it would atone for my sins and make my life mean something, but here at the draw all I feel is fear. I don’t want to die! I know it’s too late now to back out now, volunteered and chosen. The drink in my hand feels slippery as I raise the glass to my lips, the little beads of water that run down it’s side remind me of the tears I’ve been shedding for the past two weeks. These were supposed to be the best two weeks of my life. That’s supposed to be the tradition, but all I’ve gotten are the piteous stares of my neighbors, of the people I pass on the street as I play with the polished heart shaped locket that hangs around my neck, the symbol of my fate. How many before me have run their hands over the brass, the oil on their hands smoothing the metal, their fingers grabbing it for comfort, then rejecting it, reminded why it’s there? Was their time just as miserable as mine? Did they feel just as much of an outcast when they were chosen? I can feel death around the corner, standing in the shadows, waiting for me with open arms.

I sit in the dimly, lit bar, Runner’s Choice, where I’ve been pissing away the past few years after my life fell apart, the clock behind the bar ticking away my remaining the seconds one by one as the hour grows nearer to midnight. It seemed like it was nine just a moment ago as the clock reads ten thirty. Ten thirty one. The people sitting around me watch me curiously. Will he run? Will he cry? I’ve cried enough and I won’t run. I’ll face my sentence head on, as if there’s any other choice. My hands shake and so they absentmindedly grab the locket hanging around my neck, smooth and cold. I stand, resigned and defeated, and go to pay for my drink, the alcohol isn’t working and hasn’t all day, when Jackson, the old man with the alcoholic’s bulbous nose stops me. “Not today, son.” Everyone stares as I leave the bar, the silence wrapping around me like a scratchy blanket, irritating my skin. I tuck the locket into my shirt as I walk through the trash of downtown, the homeless around me begging for my change. It sits heavy against my chest, so cold it’s almost burning me. I turn out my pockets and every loose coin that clatters on the ground is picked up before it can bounce twice. One of them notices the chain.

“Whatchu got there?” I show him. “Damn, you done fucked man.” He smiles a toothless grin, laughing at me. “When does your time run out?”

“Tonight.” I reply drily and leave it at that. I don’t live far and the walk only takes me a couple minutes, the humid air suffocating, my clothes clinging to me for comfort. I wish I could comfort them, but I’m at a complete loss for myself. The door to my apartment building swings open as I approach and the soothing woman’s voice robotically welcomes me. The desk for the superintendent sits empty still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him apart from when I checked out the place, with papers piled up and falling around the desk. Out of habit I check for my mail and then remember it won’t matter in an hour, tossing away the paper in my hands. The tiled floor of alternating squares of white and black is so dirty and scuffed it’s more like yellow and grey. The elevators are broken, again, so I take the stairs, skipping them two at a time, panting by the time I reach the third floor, covered in sweat. It takes me a moment to open my apartment door. My hands won’t stop shaking as the keys fumble in my fingers and I drop them twice. I flick the lights on and head to the table where the device sits, the ac cooling me down. I turn on the device and the low whir of it fills the room, putting me at ease. At least one thing’s going right today.

I attach the nodes to my head and punch in the date on the little keypad: July 7, 2084. I close my eyes and a moment later there I am, lying in bed with her, her pale skin luminescent in the early morning light, brunette hair falling over her face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as she breathes deeply. I don’t remember being happier than right then. It was the first time I was ever truly in love, ready and able to do anything for someone else. She stirred just a bit as the sunlight rested upon her face. I leave her in bed and head into the other room, the rolling waves down below gently crashing against the cliffs. I made my coffee and read her worn copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude for the tenth time. I would’ve read it more had I known it would be banned for being anti-government just a year later, her copy stolen and burned along with the rest, the pages curling, each book indistinguishable from the rest as the flames rose in the middle of the street and the pages turned black and then grey, disintegrating into ash. She walked in an hour later wearing my shirt and wrapped her arms around my waist, kissing me on my back. She lead me outside and we sat near the cliff’s edge, the ocean breeze freezing us where we sat, my hips tight, huddled over trying to keep warm, her voice barely audible above the waves, she was always soft spoken. She turned to face me, her green eyes almost pale staring through me. “Somewhere in your heart, doesn’t have to be now, please forgive me.” It confused me for so long, but I gave her my forgiveness, and she gave me her love.

I open my eyes and I’m back in my room, panting and alone. More and more as these past two weeks have flitted by far too slowly have the memories of love stayed ever present in my mind, the fall turning to winter, turning to spring and summer, back to fall, the wheels turning over as they dredge up happier times when I felt invincible and also the worst of times when I didn’t think I could live with myself, my guilt sitting in my chest like a sea urchin, stabbing me wherever I turn. I’d gotten so used to it there. It feels like I blinked and my time was up. What have I done with the last days of my life? I sat around, passing the days like any other, their significance forever lost upon me, but these past two years have felt hopeless and lost. I punch in another date; August 5, 2086 and close my eyes once more.

We sit alone under the piercing white lights that light up the blank walls of the hospital room and the beeping of the machines is the only sound that breaks the silence. She lies there, young and beautiful, but a shell of herself of a couple years ago. I hold her hand, her skin thin and papery, the veins bulging, I could pick out the bones when my thumb ran over them. Her breath was raspy and pained, her eyes closed, but I felt like she knew I was finally there. The nurses would come in, hold some stick to her head, check it when it beeped and leave without a word. She could barely open her eyes by the time I was there with her. I knew it wouldn’t be simple when she went in, but I couldn’t bring myself to face it until it was nearly too late. She squeezed my hand as she slept, the days fading to night, the nights retreating from the day. I sat with her as her grip grew weaker still and her skin grew transparent, her body a skeleton until the nurses came one last time, her heart stopped beating, and they sat with me as she faded from life. I cried like there weren’t enough tears in the world for this feeling until I somehow ran out and they walked me out.

The door gently opens and a mousy man in an ill fitting, tweed suit walks in. I keep my eyes closed until I feel his hand on my shoulder. “Ready?” He asks. His nasally voice would’ve been compassionate if he wasn’t distractedly looking at everything and anything else. I stand up, brushing his hand off my shoulder and walk towards the soldiers at my door, their guns aimed on me, dressed in black, the flashlights stinging my eyes, forcing me to squint. They lead me down the stairs, the elevator’s still broken, and out the door of my building, forcing me to walk down the middle of the street as a helicopter spotlight shines down from above on me. The soldiers back up and keep their circle, although most of their guns are pointed outwards now. The residents of the other buildings and my neighbors crowd the windows as I walk down the street. The buildings stand stark above me, hanging over ominously, rising up into the sky scraping the clouds, and they’re all full of people watching and screaming at me. If this is the price that I must pay for them to live peacefully, then so be it. They might’ve been jeering and yelling, but I couldn’t hear a thing, not even my breathing. I start shaking, but the barrel of a gun pushes me forward and I’m able to keep walking.

By the time I see the square ahead my legs are burning, my feet are bleeding, and I’m drenched in sweat. They didn’t let me take my shoes. The square ahead of us stands empty apart from a single pole jutting out from the ground, twelve feet high and roughly hewn with two pieces of wood to stand on. Ropes to tie me up at the neck and feet hang off it loosely and indifferently. They’ve been there before I was born and they’ll be here long after I’m gone. My escort leads me to it and two soldiers take off my clothes, leaving the locket shining in the piercing light. They hoist me up. My foot slips trying to find the piece to stand on but the soldiers catch me. They tie my feet together and my neck to the wood. I can feel an uneven points catch in my back as they tie my hands behind my back around the pole, a bead of blood running down my back. It all feels like a dream as I watch the soldiers back away and take my clothes with them. I can barely keep my eyes open so I stop trying, the light shining through my eyelids. The sounds are muffled as dogs bark and people yell while another voice speaks to the crowds, louder than the rest, but engulfed by them. The helicopter blades disturb the dust around me and my hair whips around my face.

In those final seconds I open my eyes and through the dust and hair I catch glimpses of the silhouettes and shadows of the people surrounding me, yelling and screaming, their fingers pointing. All pity is gone. They know this must be done. Maybe they feel less guilty if they partake in it all. I try to keep my breath even as tears track down my face, stained by the dust that clings to them on my face. I can only hope that in being there for all these people I can somehow be there for you, like I should’ve been. Maybe I can explain if I see you on the other side, but I hope that my meaningless life inside the fish bowl can mean something more outside. Just before I know the muzzles will flash and my body will hang for three days, lifeless and decaying, I whisper, “I forgive you, Sarah. Will you forgive me?”