The Waste

All I notice about today’s lunch line is Allen’s green eyes above the smattering of freckles across his nose. With practiced gentleness, I place my opaque glass tray on the rollers and take my place in the queue. Allen’s milk white skin flushes when he sees me. His gaze doesn’t waver as I approach. By the time I’m standing in front of him, my own blush is blazing from my neck.

His wide eyes are fringed in lashes so thick and black; it is a wonder he can see. My heart lurches in my chest that he has noticed me. For years, I have admired the high cut of his cheekbones and lush curve of his lips from afar. With sweaty palms, I push my tray in front of him so that he can ladle out the capsules and glass of water that keep us nourished. As he finishes, he smiles widely, moving his closed fist through the hole in the glass partition that separates us. The smile does not reach his eyes but I hold my hand out anyway, ready to accept anything that Allen decides to gift me.

I offer a shaky grin as I hold my palm under his clenched hand. All the possibilities of what it could be echo around my mind. A slip of scent that he’s bottled to make me think of him, the code to a neural meeting room so that we can connect after our studies, a leaf from a tree in his orchard stolen as a token of affection. My heart swells then abruptly thuds to a stop as he opens his hand and a locket is dropped into my palm.

My world grinds to a halt. I stare down at the piece of tin in my hand, the intricate interlocking G and S representing the Glass Sphere stamped upon its front. I had heard that many years ago, lockets were molded from precious metals and etched by hand. Now, they were mere scraps.

A gasp snaps from the woman beside me. I am shaken out of my disbelief to look into the eyes of my schoolteacher, Marin. Her features have fallen with sorrow in a look that must mirror my own. I’ve always thought she resembled my long dead mother. Kind; full of life. Or maybe that was because she was the only adult in my life that resembled a parent figure. Regardless of how I felt about her, the moment the locket was dropped into my hand renders our past useless.

“I’m sorry,” Allen chokes out, then presses his lips together until they are a white line against his cheeks. Absently, I realize how in tune with all of us the Authority must be to station Allen as my Harbinger. I hadn’t even spoken to him before and yet it was known that I would accept something from him without question.

Knowing that I am to merely walk away and accept my fate, and too stunned to do anything else, I turn from the line and leave the cafeteria.

The dew-fresh air cups my face as I exit the building and walk in silence across the mossy paths to the Castle, the Authority’s building and the only entrance and exit from the Glass Sphere. I stare at the bending willow trees and vibrant vines that wrap around the silvery trunks as I walk. It will be the last time I take in the scenery that gives the Glass Sphere life. I wish I could break off a leaf to take with me to the Waste but there won’t be anywhere to store it. The wisp of my blouse and pants that swirl like gauze around my legs will be replaced by the rough, sack like outfits of the Exiles.

I bite down hard on my bottom lip to quell the rising panic in my breast. Jauvin won’t know that her big sister is an Exile until the evening meal when my harried father comes to deliver the news. I only hope that he can pull himself out of his depression enough to support Jauvin when I’m gone. At least the Authority won’t take Jauvin.

An odd satisfaction solidifies in my gut as I propel myself forward on stiff legs. The Authority rarely sends a locket to the same family twice. I was an anomaly. Maybe even a mistake. Every family knows it can happen to them - to lose a member in order to maintain balance of the population of the Sphere - but to have two in the same generation is rare. The only hope I carry now is the remainder of my family will be left alone.

The Castle is the tallest building in the Glass Sphere. It looms before me, white concrete and glass, towering over single storied homes. Its arches commanded grace and obedience, much like the governing body inside.

Streams of other residents climb the steps, looking back for the last time at the verdant foliage that guards the building. Their families are not in sight. A Harbinger is not to give a locket to a resident if a family member is near. The separation would be too painful, too drawn out. In the Glass Sphere quiet dignity is demanded above all else and everyone knows to exit their lives gracefully. With one last breath, I close my eyes and feel the heavy damp air sweep into my lungs. When I open them, my gaze finds the top of the giant glass dome that arches across our land, it’s bluish green tinge offering a last moment of solace. I clutch a sob inside my chest as I walk through the clear, automated door of the Castle.

I am taken by a blonde woman dressed all in white through a transparent breezeway that lays like a tube train through the forest. The giant trees give way to shrubs as we move, as if the plants know to diminish themselves in the face of the Waste.

I am taken to a chilly, opaque room. The woman barely looks at me as she tells me to undress and that she will be back with my pack. I wouldn’t look at me either. What is the point of a memory of someone who will be dead in a month?

The cold fingers of fear that I have been shoving away reach for me. I place the locket onto the small table in the center of the room that houses a crystal bowl of water for washing. As I undress to my underclothes and fold my clothing into a neat pile, I choke on the tears clogging my throat. Is this how my mother felt all those years ago? Swallowed by a helplessness so profound she trembled as her fingers peeled away her garments?

The woman returns with a pack and a stack of clothes. They are putrid brown, a color I’ve only seen in slideshows of the Waste when we youths are taught about the Lottery. I am handed the outfit without comment. It chafes my skin as I pull it on. Once outfitted, I am given a single hair elastic to tie back my light brown strands. I usually wear ribbons in my hair. There is no need for the simple utility of an elastic in the Glass Sphere.

I am handed the pack. It is lighter than I expected. We have been taught that those sent out into the Waste are given enough food and water for a month, bedding, a small shelter, a change of clothes and simple tools. I remember the collective gasp that rose from my class when, at the age of five, we learned of metal tools. We had never laid eyes upon something so rudimentary. Our food was synthesized in capsules that we added water to. Lasers cut foliage overgrowth as it encroached on our homes. Tools were something so foreign to us that we laughed. As I sling the slight pack over my shoulders, I weigh the fact that we were lied to.

The woman shuffles back and forth, ready to have her task done with. She moves to the second door at the other end of the room but her eyes snag on the locket. She looks from it to me, her message clear. It is mine. I pluck the thing from the table and sling it around my neck. With a nod, the woman presses a button beside the door. An airlock whooshes as it opens, and she points to a long opaque hall. I begin the journey, fear creeping up my spine with each step.

In mere moments hijacked by the eternity of my terror, I make it to another, darker, door that glides open. Inside is a large room. People of various ages conglomerate in a huddled group in the center. I step into the room, head high. After all the distress my family went through at the loss of my mother, I swear to myself that I will not suffer the indignity of desperation.

What must be thirty sets of eyes lock on me then are torn away as a giant door to my right glides open. It lurches to a halt, sunbeams beckoning us with freedom from the only lives we’ve ever known. Some run out to meet their fate. Others huddle together with reluctance. I keep the steady pace that has served me through my journey.

Orange and burnt dust engulf me. I blink rapidly to clear my eyes of the golden hued world. The sun, once a yellowish tinge through the top of our dome, is now a burning vermillion ball of heat that holds my shoulders down. The air sucks the moisture from my throat. I stand with my hand jutting over my forehead to search for any indication of what this new world consists of. It is barren. Just sand; miles and miles of sand.

A woman’s scream to my left breaks the blinking group of us out of our stunned silence. Sand sprays as the ground is thrown open. Several figures hop out of the gaping maw, each dressed in layers of clothing. We stare, stunned, as they rush to us and begin throwing people to the ground. The screaming woman is punched in the face by one of the sand figures and she falls forward, unconscious. The shout of an elderly man to my right and the shriek of a child starts a cacophony of alarm as one by one, we Exiles are thrown to the sand and stripped of our packs.

I brace myself as a figure strides to me, hands out, ready to wrench the pack from my back. And then I am running as fast as I can, hurtling myself into the abyss of sand and sun.

My legs quickly tire from beating through the uneven dunes. I feel someone, or a crowd of someones, behind me, hands outstretched. In harmony with my panting, a roar like nothing I’ve ever heard before grates behind me. My eyes water as I squint, franticly searching for a place to hide. The roar grows, gaining on me, until the thing making the sound jumps in front of me and halts.

It is some sort of beastly vehicle, with huge black wheels and large bars of twisted metal that form a cage overhead. A tall woman with short, dark hair is behind the control panel, wearing dark pieces of glass over her eyes held together by wires. She holds out a hand to me as she leans out the side of the cage.

“Troian! Come with me!”

The familiarity of her voice hits me like a flood of joy and longing.

“Troian!” My mother shouts.

I run as fast as I can, grabbing her hand and swinging into the next seat as she shifts a stick between us and maneuvers the vehicle away from the Glass Sphere and through the open desert.