Mirage's Revenge. Lorena Garcia

      Introduction

      We were all born to die. With every “miraculous” birth, our clocks start ticking. Time is numbered and our lives are scheduled out. Our populace is separated between the sexes; Males, the celebrated sex, and females, the despised sex.

      Very few women survive to their forties, when they are then classified as “Out of Service” and honorably hung. Women are required to give birth to men. If after the fifth try, they haven’t fulfilled their duties, they are burned to death. All of the worthless females are sent to the Department of Corrections where they live until their twelfth year. They are then taken to the Hall of Screams, a building where they are stripped and broken by every willing male member of our society. It is the only building without a name, lest any should wish to name it. There, the women are broken little by little for two months before they are either taken as a wife or burned to death.

      However, if a boy is born, the wife’s transgressions are pardoned and the boy lives with his parents for five years before they are sent to the Department of Education. There they spend ten years learning how to work. When their schooling has ended, they are assigned a room in the Hall of Screams and watched how to break them. If those boys, who are only supposed to watch, gets a temptation to touch and acts on it, they are severely punished. After they have learned, they choose a line of work. The lines available are; working in the Hall of Screams, patrolling the streets as an enforcer of the rules, a scholar, or a healer. Once a job is chosen, they receive a house and rank, and with all the information above, they are now seen as a member of society.

      I have the wonderful privilege of living in a rural-esque town whose shining plaque reminds us of its name, Doja. My name is Aqulune, I work for the Magistrate Council in enforcing the rules of our society and though I am recounting this tale, it is not about me. This is simply my way of reaching citizens and opening their eyes to the injustice and cruelty of our catalytic society embodying her story of struggle and pain.

      Chapter 1

      My decision in becoming a patroller was unanimous. I was not smart enough to become a scholar, nor kind enough to be a healer. The only reason I turned away from working in the Hall of Screams. His name is Rasputin and I specifically remember his joy and excitement increase exponentially through our experience in the hall.

      Patrollers are a necessity as there are many who wish to escape or rebel. It is my duty, along with others, to find such people and drag them to the Enforcing Committee, otherwise known as the Magistrate Council, where they are punished appropriately. It usually ends in someone burning.

      As I eat during my lunch break, I stare down the Mountains which border the town. Illegal to climb and dangerous to even wonder what it would be like to explore it. Despite this law in place, at times, I find myself watching intently. Somehow, someway, I can feel it call out to me, begging for me to explore it, only I know it cannot be so.

      Our story, however, starts on a chilly night, as it almost often seems to do so. Rasputin reported 3 young rebels escaped the Hall of Screams. I was awakened by my fellow Patroller, Damian, pounding at the door. After exchanging familiarities, he relayed the information to me, handing me a file with the report written inside. I skimmed through the pages, yawning as I walked around the house preparing for another long search.

      Once we reached the Hall of Screams, we all split up, going to cover more ground that way. I had searched for at least four hours, the sun starting to rise, when I found her. I was about to head back when I noticed a body covered in blood at the farthest corner of a dead end. I, as the job commands, have to examine. I walked up to the corner, taking note of the blood pooling around her.

      She was trembling weakly, her breathing quivering. Her hair was covering her face, tangled and blood stained. I grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up on her feet. She was smaller than me, the top of her head grazing my chin. As I held her up straight, her body slouched, her forehead resting against my chest. I shook her harshly by the shoulders, watching as she blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake.

      “What is your name?” I barked out at her.

      She remained silent, a confused look crossing the features of her face. In the growing light, I noticed something strange. For 85 years (from what I remember in my history class), the weak links were shown to have clear blue eyes and were the first to kill. There was never been an instant where blue eyes were sighted again, except today.

      I got lost in the depths of her deep blue eyes, watching as her darkest blue color was brightened with a soft golden brown firecracker. Only when morning light shone harshly in my eyes did I remember my duties to the Magistrate Council. However… I had that familiar, peculiar, feeling to go against everything I was taught to obey.

      She fainted, collapsed, in my arms. As I looked at the sun, I counted, at most, two hours until I had to report her or not.

      I have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe I was just still under the effects of her eyes. Maybe it was that sweet feeling of anarchy that forced me to do it. Or, maybe it was her soft skin under my fingers and her warmth against my chest and arms, but I carried her away. Away from the Magistrate Council and into my house. I laid her upon my bed, watching her soft rise and fall, her hair cascading over my pillow. I watched her sleep until the alarm blared its annoying screech for all patrollers to report to the Magistrate Council. I left, walked the necessary blocks, passing various houses and citizens, until I reached a broad stony arch where upon it stood a faded yellow illuminating “Magistration Committee”. I gulped as I stared at the letters, fear of them finding out coursing through my very veins. Damian stood next to me, a wicked grin on his face.

      “What are you so happy about, Damian,” I asked him. With a quick glance at the bounty, “We have failed in capturing all but one.”

      “Aqulune, my dear friend,” he whispered, his smile widening with a malicious intensity, “I found one of the girls ahead of time but I got distracted and lost her.”

      Before I could ask why that would make him smile, or ask anything else, period, the trumpets blasted their noisy tune and the Council stepped forward from their quarters and stood before us, their glare earth-shattering.

      Chapter 2

      I reentered my home, tired, achy, and in pain. The sun was once again setting. We were to have the rest of the day tomorrow for our wounds to heal. Although the Council’s force had me broken on my knees, I kept her hidden. My anger towards her, however, grew with each stroke.

      I threw my tools around haphazardly, feeling my vein throb just at the side of my throat. I entered my room, stopping to watch her sleep, albeit, still furious. She looked better; her skin was getting a rosier color from the dull chalky state it was in. The blood that was on her skin when I found her had dried, marking her skin with pinkish red crusts.

      I saw her eyes flutter open, and with one quick breath, she breathed out deeply. It was not until her shining blue eyes found me, that her breathing started to quicken. I must have seemed threatening, for as I stepped closer, her eyes widened, fear plain on her face.

      I grabbed her forearms and pulled her up to her feet, not caring that my brute strength made her wince and shout out in pain or that within seconds, her skin started to bruise under my grip. I dragged her to the bathroom, and with great difficulty, I bathed, combed, and dressed her with the clothes that were left behind of the previous owners of the house.

      I watched her as I cooked, her skin had fresh marks from where I held her hard or struck her. I admit, I felt disgust with myself when tears streamed down the sides of her face. I was vicious but she needed to understand that I wanted to help, she needed to know that I was going to keep her safe.

      I placed the plate of food and an eating utensil in front of her before starting to eat my own. Her hand quivered as she reached over and took hold of the utensil, her eyes flickering from my face to my hands to the plate in front of her and the spoon in my hand. She hesitantly scooped up some food and brought it to her lips. With a final flicker of uncertainty, she ate agonizingly slow.

      I sat across