The Insemination Line

Bailey sat nonchalantly as she observed blades of grass dancing freely in the wind. Soil from the earth passed through her fingers like the passing sands of time. She watched in awe as the sunlight began to fade into the horizon whilst trying to ignore the faded grey fence of the insemination camp that obstructed the view of what would perhaps be one of her last memories of earth.

As she began to rise, she gazed into the gleaming gold heart-shaped locket that she had been given from the warden. It bore a brilliant clockface, yet each stroke of the clock's arm, swift and robust, was like the sound of a muffled funeral drum beating closer and closer towards her grave. Tomorrow she will be turning thirty, which inevitably means that she will be sent to the reaping ceremony, like a chicken to the slaughter once it loses its primary value.

She was required to join the insemination line one last time for her final harvest. Bailey listened to the buzzing and humming of the large metallic machines as she observed a sea of pale blonde hair amongst a line of hundreds as she waited patiently to have her eggs retrieved; the race of the new world.

"A beautiful view, isn't it?" beckoned a sarcastically husky voice from behind her. Sal, a slightly withdrawn yet upbeat lesbian with an often dry and optimistically bleak sense of humour (which had somehow become quite comforting over time). "Perhaps for you, Sal. It's my birthday tomorrow". Sal's face appeared full of solemn and regret. Usually, nothing was too morbid for Sal to make a quip about, but this time was different. It seemed off-limits for her to joke about, which made reality sink in for Bailey.

Sal had once snuck correspondence and letters back and forth into the men's camp located on the other side of the river for Bailey. Sal was tasked with delivering official paperwork to the men's base as the wardens believed that she would be the least physically appealing female specimen for the job.

Long ago, Bailey kept in contact with her partner Gerry. Remembering the time spent with him, when everything felt so new. Love seemed like the only reason for living. Remembering that feeling of hope was the sole reason that she survived. Until one day, another couple was caught sending letters back and forth to each other. The reprimand for all involved was a harrowing display of terror. The lover's heads and genitals appeared scattered over the barb wire fence posts. Deep shades of blood scattered throughout the courtyard. There are some things that you simply cannot unsee. Sal stopped sending the letters out of fear that day, and as for Gerry. Bailey had not heard from him in what seemed like an eternity.

As the days have gone by without contact, much like the ones before them, the world often passes by in blurs of colours and sound, and it all just seems to meld into each other to become relatively meaningless. "Elder, why are you not at the last supper? It's mandatory!?" a cold hardened face that was lacking any signs of emotion appeared and interrupted Bailey from her thoughts. The warden, a youthful young female with the heart and soul of a harrowing old witch. "I'm on my way there now, warden. Sorry for my tardiness".

Bailey still found it perplexing that she was one of the oldest living members of society. Despite her wealth of wisdom, the older she became, the less respect she was given. Once the earth's resources had run out, there was no need to have extra mouths to feed if you weren't able to contribute vitality and purpose towards the new world.

Things had once gotten to such a lousy state within the world that the global leaders decided that after all of the civil war, poverty, death and famine, the only logical solution would be to start over again but to do it right this time, with more structure.

The machines and insemination plants were used as a measurement of control globally to ensure that human breeding did not get too out of hand again, given the earth's vastly limited resources. Although human breeding was strictly off-limits, there were still a number of guards that disobeyed this rule without punishment from the system.

At the last supper, Bailey was given a wilted flower that she was required to pin onto the top of her shirt. "This must serve as the last reminder that society has deemed my ovaries as officially useless". The ladies around the table dimly laughed at Bailey's attempt at self-deprecating humour. The aroma of warm chicken and spices flooded the air and was a rare delicacy that she had not experienced in over a decade. Bailey had grown fond of these women. Each sharing their life's journeys, hopes, fears, and memories. They felt like strangers that had become like sisters.

Judy, who was a sizeable red-headed teenager, sat opposite Bailey and nudged her leg under the table. Bailey felt the sensation of dry paper rub up against her knee. The note was written; "meet Sal in the laundry room at 11pm". Most likely, Sal's last ploy to instil false hope into her, she thought.

People often say that 'you should find a way to save yourself', stating notions about freedom and hope, but they're usually too busy trying to survive each day that they fail to realise that it would be a lot more painless if they were to just simply find a rope. However, Sal had taken a significant risk in getting the note to her, and it would be disrespectful not to meet with her after the trouble she had gone to. After all, how bad could the punishment be if she were to get caught? She was being summoned to death by tomorrow morning anyway. At that moment, Bailey felt a rush of adrenaline at the excitement of finally not having to live in fear of consequences. Conformity suddenly held no place in her life anymore.

After everyone had gone to bed at the compulsory time of 7pm, Bailey met Sal in the laundry room at 11pm. Sal appeared to be pale and clammy. We don't have much time, she proclaimed. Sal handed Bailey what seemed to be a map of some kind, her hand shaking unsteadily. "This is directly from Gerry. Where is your locket?". Bailey felt as though she had suddenly been hit by sensory overload. "Bailey, the locket?". Bailey did as instructed and handed Sal her heart-shaped locket. "Now help me move this bloody thing" Sal nodded to one of the oversized washing machines. With a loud screech against the wooden floor. "Shh, not like that!" Sal snapped. Underneath was a jagged door. Sal plodded the key attached to the golden locket into the doors opening and pulled it back. "Don't say that I never did anything for you!" Bailey's eyes rapidly welled up. It felt too surreal to be true. "It's your chance for a shot at freedom now". Go on, go! Sal exclaimed quickly. A farewell that felt incredibly rushed.

As Bailey leapt into the unknown, hands shaking against the cold bars of what she felt to be a ladder as she climbed into the darkness underneath the floorboards. Sal slammed the floorboard shut, and Bailey heard the washing machine pushed back over the top of her. The door sounded like it opened, and Judy and the warden's voice appeared. As well as a male guards voice. Bailey couldn't quite make out the conversation, but she thought she heard Judy say, "Here she is, I told you, Warden". Judy was often known for being a snitch, but surely, she wouldn't sell out Sal. They had always been like sisters. The loud echo of a gunshot fired. Bailey felt the vibration of the sound and covered her own mouth in disbelief. She felt warm liquid drop onto the side of her arm.

Frozen in time on the ladder, within the darkness, Bailey suddenly felt a soft hand on her leg as she let out a yelp. "Shhh, Bailey, it's me". A familiar voice whispered. Gerry? After all of these years. Could it really be you? Bailey felt encapsulated by Gerry's embrace. When two hearts reignite after being apart for some time, reality temporarily seems to fade away. "come on, we need to go," Gerry said with urgency. Bailey suddenly felt invincible within that moment with Gerry by her side.

Gerry led the way with a fluorescently bright light. Strong smells of dampness and mould encompassed them as they continued down a tunnel that seemed to go on forever. Water trickling down the walls. They eventually came into an old room with dusty antique supplies and equipment that looked as though it must have been untouched for decades. Gerry picked up an old-style gun and packed it. It seemed like he knew his way around, but it was hardly the time for questions.

Gerry opened a door with a long sturdy-looking ladder. "When we get to the top, I'm going to open this door, and we're going to run as fast as we can into the forest". Without any hesitation, Bailey nodded. She knew that it was now or never if they wanted to live a semi-normal life of freedom together. There was no time for thoughts, only instinct.

Bailey bolted from the opening like a horse with blinkers on yet managed to notice that they had come out on the other side of the barb wire fences. Their legs pounded the ground forcefully, and they sprinted into the welcoming and shadowy opening of the forest. We made it! Billie panted. Gerry, we made it! Gerry made no response. Bailey looked beside her, and Gerry had disappeared. She looked behind her, and he wasn't anywhere to be found. She traced her steps back and noticed an opening within the forest floor. Gerry lay within a ditch with long sharp blades protruding out of him. Hues of red enveloped him whole.

Gunshots fired and echoed throughout the forest. She heard the sounds of dogs barking fiercely. Bailey ran. Bailey ran until her feet felt like shards of glass and her mind murky and scattered, like the sight of the forest floor. It was now night, and it felt as though she had been running for days and nights. Would this forever be my new normal, she wondered? She sat and looked up where intimidating trees hide the sky with their leaves. Hope shrivels. Where all seems lost in the lonesome frost, it withers. Yet specs of light will always radiate through gaps in the canopy. It always seems to. On barren and forgotten lands it emits, the unloved roots it warms.

Bailey thought to herself even when the mind is lost and the body withered, time is still a powerful notion. Time can fly, time can heal, time can be lost or even taken away from us. I am one of the many who has become another victim of time and its powerful games. However, there is no use fighting against it in the end because I know deep down inside, I will never be as resilient as time. But really, only time can tell.