Outliers

“This is where I slept, you know,” I say, feeling the timeworn sheets of thin cotton.

I stand back in my old room. Prance stands nearby, grimacing at the surrounding air. I’m not surprised that everything here disgusts his tastes. He only glances my way before he steps slowly on the concrete blocks. I look back at my old belongings. I was hoping to find Isa here, but there’s no sign of her anywhere. I sit on the corner of my bed and watch Prance slightly straining his neck, as he’s too tall for the ceiling. The bottom of his lip has turned blue from the icy atmosphere.

“You’ll get used to it,” I say.

His eyes lock my way, “What?”

“The cold,” I answer.

He shoves him hands in his pockets. I’d hate for him to pity me and think of me as weak. Seeming restless, Prance takes a spot next to me on the mattress.

“I’m not cold,” he defends.

I slip on a small smile. I look up at him. His gaze is straight and like stone. I try and figure out what he’s thinking. I don’t know much about him, though I know he’s a man of few words and few expressions.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?” he avoids looking into my eyes.

“For helping me.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“I didn’t do anything good,” he tells me.

I swallow and look out the small window like him.

“I know you don’t consider the life of an Outlier as anything important… but you saved my life.”

He shifts his gaze to me. I couldn’t help but look at him, too.

“I didn’t save your life. Stop exaggerating,” he says, looking away once again.

I do the same and say, “I don’t hate you. So don’t make me.”

The night overwhelms and I crawl over to the far side of my bed to sleep.

Early in the morning, I made it back to the camp and saw people surrounding it. Each person had a box of items and food. Some were chowing down the breakfast they received. Poached eggs and baked bread with colourful slices of fruits. Many of them, I’m sure, didn’t know what they were eating, but ate it anyhow. What irked me was that most of the assistance crew had disappeared. Among the crowd, I set an eye out for Isa. I see her wavy haired head and called out her name. But it wasn’t her. A girl next to me speaks up.

“You’re looking for Isa? You should be able to find her at the Markham’s,” she says.

“Oh, thanks.”

I make a run for it down the lane to the house. I know that the Markham sisters take on any widows. I mount the stairs and knock on the wooden door. It swings open and a fair skinned girl opens it.

“I’m looking for Isa?” I inquire, “Is she here?”

The young girl nods and lets me in.

I turn the corner and see Isa sitting with other girls our age. She sees me and runs to me and hugs me.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I was so worried” I breathe.

“You’re alive! I thought they killed you,” she says.

I shake my head and beam, so happy to see her well.

“I’ve missed you. How…” I start.

I pause when I notice her thin figure.

“Why are you here?”

Isa looks down, “It’s a long story.”

She pulls me to another room across the hall.

“They killed him for theft,” she talks of her match, though that wasn’t my initial concern.

Isa crosses her arms, “Before the Sentries were able to trace him to me… I got rid of it.”

My brows furrow together, confused at her words.

“The baby?” I whisper.

She nods, unbothered.

“The girls here had done it before.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” she says, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

I sigh and nod, giving her a small smile. I wasn’t aware that the Markham’s house was a secret abortion clinic.

“Let’s go out to the camps. There’s plenty of food to eat and clothes to wear.”

“Wait, hold on.” Isa clings to my arm as we walk out the door, “What ever happened to you? You look as though you live in a palace.”

I grin nervously.

“It’s also a long story,” I wave my hand.

“Do tell, Sage. I got to know.”

I’m not sure what to tell. I was so worked up on finding her that I forgot that I would have to tell her everything. Should I tell her the truth? That I was given off to the Prince of Polaris? Even if I spear her the details, it sounds absurd. I wonder if Prance is still asleep. Isa stands amazed at the camp.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“Things are going to get better here,” I say instead.

I push her to go get herself a box of supplies and food. I feel a sense of pride and happiness. Finally, we can live normally. I see a future where men and women can work and earn enough money to take care of their needs. I turn around and imagine Piths Square turning into a green park with children playing freely and solid homes and markets showcasing fresh produce. I imagine the sun finally rising in a blue sky, shining down on our freedom.

My vision is suddenly ruptured by a falling grey sky. My ears hear piercing screams and people run left and right. There is thunder, yet no rain. My senses start to panic when I see bodies dropping and foaming at the mouth. A little boy falls at my feet, crushing the loaf of bread in his hands, as his eyes roll in the back of his head. I gasp frantically. The… the food is poisoned? But why? Why? I fall to my knees, feverish of the sight I see.

How? What is going on? The ground shakes and explosions hit us. I look up and see hundreds, thousands of missiles flying out of aeroplanes.

“Sage!” I hear my name being yelled.

I look over my shoulder. It’s as though destruction happens in slow motion, but is unstoppable. My weepy eyes watch Prance run towards me. I’m then tossed in his arms, as he pulls me away from the burning camp. My chest shakes in shock. My lungs no longer function. The air is intoxicated with flaming debris. I’m screaming, but there are no sounds coming out of my throat. A man on fire runs to his death. Lonely limbs spread around the road. My ears are ringing. We follow the others running down to the Sentry’s building. People rush down a flight of stairs to the dark prison area underground. Once the doors close, it’s painfully silent. The screams are cut off. There are twenty, maybe thirty of us down here. Breathe, breathe, breathe. I repeat to myself. My chin quivers. I try to fight back any more tears.

“Prance,” I manage to whisper with what’s left of my strength.

“I’m here,” he says.

Suddenly, the endless exploding thunders shake the room, cracking the ceiling with lines. Boom, boom, boom. One after the other. Everyone holds on to one another and cries for the agony to end. My sanity is still with me, only because I’m tucked in Prance’s steady grasp.