Below the Satellite. Behind the Walls…

“People are our greatest resource.”

Every morning after a calming tone fills my room, like everyone else’s, this phrase is given to us by a robotic voice. We are then fed our first nutrient pill of the three we are given periodically throughout the day.

I’ve lived my entire life in this city, and every morning I look out my window while mechanical blinds slowly retreat, to see the heart of everything that surrounds us; the satellite.

My nineteenth birthday approaches, excitement in my family and amongst my friends heightens everyday, for on that day, I will be in the lottery. Half of all of us turning nineteen will be given the best job imaginable; moving up on the satellite to help manufacture humans greatest achievement, the nutrient pill. A pill that has made eating primitive food obsolete, as it contains all the nutrients, vitamins and even vaccines that we need. The other half are placed into an advanced computerized match-making system, where they are matched with a fellow lottery loser. A heart-shaped pendant with the number of their assigned “perfect match” as chosen by the system is given to them immediately as they set out to remain here, marry, and start a perfect family.

This is the way of life, we live in perfection. I’ve always wondered what is behind those walls, but I know they are built for the same reason everything else here exists-to make life perfect for all of us. I wanted to be the first in my family to win. So, with only days until my birthday, my father and mother threw me several parties. However my grandfather didn’t seem so excited. I thought it may be because if I win, once I go up to the satellite, although every winners’ family is heavily compensated with a mass sum of currency as part of the winning package, I will also never see or speak with my family again.

At the end of my final party, I trailed my grandfather into his room with concern and asked if he was alright.

He said, “I’m fine…”

I could tell in his voice that he was not. So I ask again. This time he stares into my eyes with significant pain in his as he says, “I’ve waited, contemplating showing you this, but I think it’s time.”

He brings me outside, around the side of the house, and into our cellar. At the far end of the musty room, he moves around some old boxes covered with a soft blanket of dust, and reveals a hidden door in the wall. It slides open with a subtle bassy groan, and reveals a ladder that trails about fifty feet beneath the floor. I follow him down.

When he reaches the bottom, he clicks a button, and after a second-long delay, the space fills with a warm yellow light. He begins to show me books, files, pictures, excerpts, and documents of the world before the satellite and the wall. He explains;

“This was all passed down to me from my father, it details the world before the satellite, before the lottery… before the wall.”

My eyes are being filled with radical news articles about nuclear fallout and the building of a wall to keep the new city safe from the mutated, and to help rebuild the world. A satellite sent up chalk-full to get us off the now destroyed earth, and even more about the satellite failing in orbit and being suspended in Earth’s stratosphere because of a magnetic field created by the fallout. Talks of a war to keep the mutated, now turned cannibalized population outside the wall, contained. It referred to massive floods, dying species…. extinction. Most prominently though, food shortages and a plan to end it.

At that, I threw the pages down and belched to my grandfather that it was all a lie. He told me that all he wants me to do is skip the lottery; but I refuse for it is in my blood. I told him I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of a lifetime, and I left. He pleaded with me as I climbed the rungs of the ladder.

“It’s all slaughterhouses! The pill is made of us!” but I took it with a grain of salt because I know better.

The next day, I pack myself up to head to the venue for the lottery. As I slip my second sock on my foot, my father enters my room.

“Hey buddy, I have some bad news. Last night after you went to bed, I found your grandfather outside, and he wouldn’t stop begging me to keep you from going to the lottery. He was manic, so I took him into the hospital, they said he should stay over night and so he won’t be around today. But they told me that he wanted me to tell you that he was excited for you to be in the lottery and to give you his best wishes.”

I was confused; the wishes my grandfather gave me directly contradict what he said to me last night. But it doesn’t matter anyway because I will be entering the lottery not just for myself, but for my family as well. The venue is only about a 200 meter walk from our living area. We ready ourselves, and begin the walk.

We arrive to see the area jam packed with people chanting, children with balloons, and huge banners draped over every 90 degree angle in sight, as they always do. My family merges themselves into the growing crowd after wishing me luck as I walk to the stage. I step up, graciously accept my purple ticket, and join the shoulder-to-shoulder line of fellow 19 year olds, ready to take on the world. After the brief, overused opening speech reaches it’s cliché end, the numbers are drawn, one by one. The MC continued pulling numbers out, until my number was called. Wait, my number was called! I won! I won the lottery!

The next day I wake up and pack the rest of my things, and get ready to head to the satellite to begin work. My mother and father said their goodbyes. I clutched the locket my grandfather had gotten when he lost his lottery in my fist, and thought of him as I was picked up just outside by a beautiful long limo. We arrive at an intricate yet fabulous building, and I’m walked to the door and greeted by many other winners. A small, weasel-y looking man entered the lobby and proceeded to say;

“You are the chosen few who will be taken to the satellite to help create the most brilliant innovation of all history, the nutrient pill. The perfect replacement for the food of the past. Thank you all for coming, and remember, people are our greatest resource.”

We took turns being individually escorted into another room, until it was my turn. There I stood, in front of what looked to be an all-metal walled room where I would be readied for travel. Suddenly I felt lethargic, and just as quickly felt myself collapse without warning as I lose consciousness.

When I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. I’m excited at first because I must be in the satellite; but I quickly realize that I am hanging upside down by my feet, with my hands tied behind me, and the excitement turns to pure terror. I look around in shock to see that I’m not the only one. In fact, not even close. Hundreds of people, other petrified people, tied to the ceiling. Rows upon rows of us. In the far distance I can see several tall men walking down the lines, passing each helpless hanging person. As they pass each body their screaming stops.

I struggle as the men make their way closer and closer to me. With each step they take, the room grows quieter. I receive a massive adrenaline rush as I realize that the rope tied around my wrists is coming loose. The thick rope slips out of the knot that holds it, and becomes slack from my wriggling until it falls into the bucket beneath me. I instinctually haul myself upwards enough to untie my ankles, then speedily am up and recovered from the fall. I’m now running by and through screaming people, and people that won’t ever scream again. I locate the door, and throw myself out of it. I follow the layout of the horrific building; down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, and through another heavier door. White, hot light surrounds me, and I immediately realize I’m looking straight at the sun, illuminating the horror before me.

This is not the satellite. This isn’t even my city. I realize that I am in a factory outside of the walls. I look up to see the towering walls off to my left, and I want to scream. However, I know the only ones who will hear me are the men chasing me. I look ahead for a place to run, but all I see is wasteland. And then, off to the right in the distance, my eyes are met with a sight that makes me think about why these walls were built and everything my grandfather shared with me only two nights ago. A group of what appears to be people with severe and obvious mutations stand completely still as they notice me. They’re standing over what looks like a human, and the story I read in my grandfathers’ newspaper about the rise in cannibalism is fresh on my mind. The stories about the outside aren’t just stories.

I look closer and realize the most frightening truth, they were standing over my grandfather. They suddenly jolt toward me, I begin to step back when I feel two large arms wrap around me from behind. It’s one of the tall men from inside, he says close to my ear, “Sad isn’t it? Took him out here this morning for the mutants. Old fella told his grandson all about this place, little guy is probably inside being turned into pills as we speak.” He scoffs. “When will these people ever learn to shut their mouths? Well, sorry son, but you know what they say, people are our greatest resource.”

The feeling of lethargy returns, and just as quickly I feel myself collapse without warning as I lose consciousness.