The Heart of Gala

It was my mother’s. The heart locket. It was what she gave me as they dragged her away. She told me to never wear it unless I wanted the truth. I was only six years old at the time. I was confused by what she meant that day and never once wore the necklace…until now.

I am 17 years old now and my entire life has been a lie. On the day of my 17th birthday, I was to enter society as a Worker to serve the “greater good” as they told us. I was so happy because it was the day the entire city of Gala was supposed to gather in the center of town at the Ballroom, a building specifically built to hold a party for every child turning 17 that month. It was a monthly occasion that was viewed with high honors within the city, and I was finally getting mine.

The Artists, the people who dressed the teenagers turning 17, stopped by each person’s house, walking them to the Ballroom early in the morning to prepare for the long day of events. The 17’s all carried on, talking to each other, and snacking on the few snacks prepared while we were attended to, one by one, by the team of Artists. Each person who came out of the Preparation Room looked stunning, in ball gowns of gems and glitter or tuxedos pressed and sleek. They all had different styles, colors, and flourishes, each one better than the next. Finally, when my turn came, I felt my knees go weak, but followed the Artists into the Preparation Room.

The room was sleek and white, despite the amount of people coming in and out of it. The only spots of colors were the makeup pallets lining the tables, the clothing hung up on metal racks, and the people who stood by the tables with the equipment to style the next 17-year-old. I was sat down and immediately told to close my eyes. As my eyes closed, what seemed like a million hands, grabbed me at once, gentle and caring as they worked on my hair and face, preparing me for my grand entrance that night. After they told me I could open my eyes, I was confronted with a rack of colorful dresses.

“Pick your favorite. They are all your size on this rack,” a soft woman’s voice coaxed me from behind. I nodded and took my time before I pointed towards the deep purple dress that had a fluffed skirt and a belle shaped top lined in silver. “Excellent choice. Help her,” came the voice again.

The Artists helped me out of the chair and then put me in a petite coat before helping me into the dress I had chosen. Once the laces were tightened in the back, they sat me down again, sliding silver heels onto my feet and fastening them around my ankles. Afterwards, two of them took my hand, leading me to the far side of the white room while the rest scurried about to clean behind me to ready for the next person. Once on the other side, the Artists spun me to face the mirror and the sight stunned me.

In the mirror stood a girl on the verge of becoming a woman. Her dark brown curls were swept elegantly on top of her head, with only two strands falling on either side of her soft, round face. Her skin, normally dull, glowed underneath its brown exterior. Her eyes were surrounded with a brown and black smoked makeup, making her brown eyes look almost golden and mysterious. Her lips were painted a deep-sensual red, drawing attention to the fullness they held. Then taking in the dress, its stunning appearance of royal purple hues darkened almost black and lined with silver on the edges, glittering like the night sky within the tulle of the skirt. It accentuated every natural curve she owned in her body, the deep purple making her brown skin seem almost golden in comparison. This woman in the mirror could not be the same girl I saw in reflections of windows and water. This woman could not be me.

“It is perfectly and naturally you,” the soft woman’s voice sounded once more, coming to reveal itself in the mirror beside me. I looked up in the older woman’s eyes, green to my brown, and saw that she knew the thoughts running through my head. I swallowed, nodding before she escorted me out of the Preparation Room to join the others for the night I was surely not to forget, but for all the wrong reasons.

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It was terrible. The scene that happened before my eyes. One minute I was dancing, celebrating with society about my 17th and the next…the next I was screaming and being escorted out of the room, rushed home with nothing but the gown I was wearing and my breaking heart.

I saw it all…the moment my father took his life. He stood on top of the staircase, on top of the railing, his face covered in tears as he held the microphone in his hand. He then called out my name on the microphone, searching for me. I looked up in time for him to tell the entire society his last words, but the words were directed at me, “Baby girl, Nayomi, find the heart. Find the heart and hold onto it. It will tell you the truth. I love you.” As Security went up to attempt to get him and the microphone, he pulled out a knife and slit his throat, falling to the floor below. There was silence for many minutes before the screaming began. It was only later, being dragged out of the building that I knew the screaming was coming from me.

The Security, the ones who patrolled the city and kept it safe, took me home. I was led inside and given a pill that they forced me to “swallow” before leaving the house. Angry and upset, I spat the pill onto the floor, crushing it under my heel. I cried and cried, going around the house to attempt to find anything that I could throw, anything that would make me feel even a little bit better. When I reached the bedroom of my father, I noticed a piece of paper lying upon his bed. I snatched it up, sniffling, and began reading:

"I am sorry, Nayomi but they were coming for me. I stole information about what they have been doing and they were going to take me away anyway, exactly like your mother. I found her! She is alive! She has been alive all these years! They lied to us, Nayomi. They told us they banish criminals, but they lied. They have been experimenting on them like lab rats. Honey, I wish I could tell you more, but the city is not what it seems. We are not fulfilling higher purposes like we have been led to believe. Find your heart locket and it will help you. I love you, baby girl. Be safe and find your mother…save her."

I reread the message over and over as I cried, feeling more confused than ever. However, I did as my father told me and dug up the heart locket my mother gave me when I was five. Raising it up, the locket shined blue in the light. I never bothered to wear the necklace before but because it belonged to my mother, I never got rid of it. I didn’t see the purpose in the necklace because it seemed to just be a regular locket. However, I unclasped it, fastening it around my neck before looking down at it, sitting perfectly in the middle of my chest. At first, nothing happened. I sighed in response, feeling like my father just filled me with hope of answers for nothing. Then, moments after the thought passed through my mind, I felt a surge of what seemed to be electricity take over my body, the tiny heart shooting sparks as my entire vision filled with images.

The whole room seemed to fill with them, passing by explosions, babies crying, smiling faces of parents and then the same parents crying, and so on. Each image seemed to depict bad memories, and they got worse and worse as they passed on. Eventually, I saw Gala, in all its glory, being built and structured. Following this seemingly harmless image came another, more gruesome image. People, laid on tables, strapped and helpless. It appeared they were being tested on. Then the image changed again, showing the horrible image of a woman with a tube inserted inside her and screaming about how the doctors surrounding her were taking her baby. The same woman passes by the screen again, looking dull and unaware, her eyes lifeless as doctors tell her to go home and rest. The images zoom past until it lands on a young boy, dirty and looking as if he were climbing the walls of Gala before a sound of fireworks went off, the boy falling to the red, cracked earth, no longer moving. The images eventually stopped flowing at some point during the night. When they did, I noticed that my cheeks were cold and damp from tears. I had never experienced such horrors in my life of Gala, but whatever those were seemed wrong.

It was this moment that I started to doubt how perfect Gala appeared. I also knew in this moment that my parents could not have been the only people who knew of these atrocities. Gala lied to its people about there being more people living on the outside. Gala lied to its people about this place being safe and the only place where life could survive. Gala lied to its people about wanting the best for its people. Gala lied.

Determined and confused, I gathered my strength to stand again, approaching the window to look outside as I glanced up to the tall buildings in the center of Gala, the bright spots of the city.

“I’m coming for you, mother, but I’m also coming for Gala,” I whispered fiercely under my breath, gripping the heart locket tightly in my hand.