The Yellow Ticket

The young girl sat alone on the station bench, clutching a little brown sack and a yellow ticket to herself. She peered around the empty station as if afraid someone would appear just to snatch it away. Perhaps someone would.

At just 8 years old, the girl was small for her age, pale, thin, an easy target.

Many children were easy targets since the Great Sickness. There was barely enough food to feed the fighters, and they were the priority. Young girls like Anne weren’t considered important. She often went two days without more than a bowl of thin soup, or a small piece of hard bread.

Anne hugged her backpack to her rumbling stomach, large eyes peering anxiously down the station platform. She was so tired, and so hungry. She'd made a mistake today, so the Factory Master had kept her back until she'd fixed it. All the other girls were already back in the Compound.

Being alone on the station set her skin crawling. Her heart beat fast.

Where was the truck?

Before the Great Sickness this station had trains, lots of them. Anne remembered coming here with her mother, hanging off Mumma’s hand and staring at all the trains. They were so big, so shiny and so noisy. And there were so many people!

She’d watched it all with big eyes. It had been a Sunday. She knew this because it was Mumma’s only day off. Mumma was always working, but Sunday was their day. It was her favourite day. They’d eat chocolate cereal for breakfast in bed, which was such a treat because Anne knew it wasn’t cheap. The Mumma would take Anne around the city, and they’d talk and laugh, and watch all the people. Mumma always said to be nice to the people you see, you never know their lives. Even if Anne spotted someone with a funny nose, Mumma never laughed. Mumma said to never judge by appearances.

Anne hadn’t had any cereal since the Great Sickness. She could barely remember the taste. Her tummy grumbled.

Jumping up, Anne squinted down the platform. She tried to imagine the great big truck rumbling up to stop, and pick her up. The big truck came in the morning and in the afternoon, to take the little girls who worked in the factory back to camp. If she’d missed the truck, she’d have to sleep here.

The platform was long, grey, and empty of people.

Her tummy twisted, not with hunger this time.

Anne picked her way back to the station bench, and sat down cross-legged on the ground, her back against the seat. The truck would come, they wouldn't forget about her. The truck always came for the factory girls, to take them back to the Compound. The factory girls spent their days making clothes for the fighters, and so the truck always came to get them, and take them back to the Compound, where they would get food and a place to sleep.

Anne knew she was lucky. She was lucky she was fed, she was lucky she had a sleeping bag, she was lucky the Great Sickness hadn't taken her, as it had taken billions of others.

Anne hunched forwards, cradling her backpack and her precious yellow ticket. The yellow ticket was the only thing she had to prove she was a factory girl. The yellow ticket was given to her by the Factory Master, and then checked by the guard at the station. No yellow ticket, no entrance to the platform, and onto the truck. The yellow ticket was the only way she was fed and then given a sleeping bag.

Those without a yellow ticket couldn’t enter the safety of the Compound every night. They were the Displaced, forced to live as outcasts in the abandoned city.

Getting Anne a yellow ticket to the Compound was one of the last things Mumma had done. Anne hadn’t understood why Mumma had seemed so relieved, or why she’d started crying softly once they left that horrible, dark office.

Anne missed sleeping with Mumma. She missed the soft touch, and cool hands calming her down when she woke up screaming. Nobody hugged her when she had nightmares now.

A noise drew her attention from her thoughts, and back into the present. Turning her face, Anne peered behind her, past the station barrier, past the station guard, and out onto the road behind. A young boy was shuffling his way towards the station.

Curious, Anne stared at the young boy. He was dirty, his face smeared black and his clothes torn. He looked like he hadn’t washed in weeks. As she watched, the young boy crept closer, and then pressed himself against the wall of the station, eyes on the guard.

He’s going to jump the fence, Anne thought suddenly. I bet he hasn’t got a yellow ticket, but he’s still going to try to get on my truck! He can’t do that! He’s not one of us!

Almost immediately, Anne felt a wave of shame rush through her. Mumma would be so disappointed to know Anne was thinking unkind thoughts.

“We must always be kind, Annie, we must always think the best of others,” Mumma had said one evening, as she and Anne curled together on the mattress in their apartment. “We must always be safe, but we should never decide we know who someone is, just because of how they look”.

“But why Mumma?” A younger Anne had asked, cuddling into the safety of her mother’s arms.

“Because”, Mumma said softly, stroking Anne’s hair, “it's part of being human.”

“What's part of being human?”

“Kindness my darling, and empathy. Kindness and empathy is what makes us different from all other animals on the planet.”

“Em- em, emfy,” Anne tried. Mumma had laughed, stroking her hair.

Young Anne had drifted off to sleep that night, puzzled about how the concept of empathy, but determined to try it.

The boy crouched, pressing his skinny body against the station wall. The station guard was oblivious, sitting along the barrier facing the platform. The station guard didn't let anyone on to the platform without a ticket.

The boy peered at her, eyes large in his sunken face. He must be so hungry...

Suddenly, Anne felt anxious. The boy needed help. If Mumma was here, Mumma would help the boy. Mumma would care for him, so she would too. Anne jumped up, and trotted across the platform, backpack and ticket hugged tightly to her.

Surely the factory needed more people. If she could just get him on to the truck...

The station guard turned bored, grey eyes to the girl as she approached. "What?" He asked, as she skidded to a half by him.

"Can I share my ticket?"

The guard stared at her. "Why would you do that?"

"For a friend. He's hungry."

The guard looked around the station, and the boy ducked, hidden from sight. Anne frownded.

"One ticket, one person," the guard said firmly. "You know the rules."

"But-"

"Go away, girl. Leave me in peace."

Desperate, Anne looked for the boy. He remained crouched by the barrier, hidden from the guard's line of sight. Anne took a step to him and-

The ground beneath her feet rumbled. The truck!

The guard, and the boy heard the truck too. The guard turned away from watching the barrier, and strode on to the platform, preparing to board the truck. The boy, as though he’d been waiting, sprinted along the low wall, and jumped across the barrier.

He made straight for Anne. Suddenly, he didn’t look friendly. Anne's body turned cold.

The boy raced across the platform, closing the gap between them easily. His eyes, previously so wide and fearful, were hard now. Focused. Suddenly, she was afraid.

Quick as a flash, the boy reached Anne, and pushed her roughly to the ground. He snatched the yellow ticket from Anne’s hand. As she fell, he bolted away across the platform, towards the coming truck. Anne cried out, and the station guard turned towards where she lay, sprawled across the floor.

“My ticket,” Anne cried, “he took my ticket!”

The station guard regarded her for a minute, and then turned away. Anne's heart felt like it stopped.

He couldn't, he wouldn't...

It was her ticket!

"Help me!"

Why wasn't he helping her? Why did he just stare at her? Why didn't he see that the boy stole her ticket??

The truck drew to a stop by him, and the guard stepped up onto the truck bed. He didn't even turn around. The boy leapt into the truck bed behind him, brandishing the yellow ticket at the truck master. The master nodded.

No, no he couldn't. It was't his ticket. It was hers.

“Help me,” Anne sobbed, scrambling to her feet. “Wait!”

She stumbled across the platform to the truck. Her truck. It was her truck! They knew her, they wouldn't leave her.

Her legs burned.

A sea of faces peered at her from the truck bed, curious. Many sets of eyes regarded her as she sprinted towards them, sobbing. A few sets of eyes looked curiously at the boy as he settled into his seat. It all seemed to happen too slowly, and too fast.

She was close to the truck now, she could make it...

And then the truck rumbled away, away from the black, silent city, and towards the safety of the Compound. The boy and the station guard settled down in their seats. The boy looked back at Anne, and grinned widely, without kindness.

Anne, alone on the darkening platform, stared after him.