The Beginning of the End

Short long story of a girl having to deal with sadness, growing up in Dystopian society.

The Beginning of the end.

‘Only in Death, will Freedom be mine’

Date 2/12/2034 

Death. One small word can mean so much to one person or another, the first thing that comes to mind when a normal person would think of this is sadness and mourning, to me it is entirely different turns out death could also be equivalent to happiness and freedom, it was for me..

My life, if it can be called a real life, was not something I like to remember, it was hell and to tell you the truth I’m glad it’s nearly over. But I’m not just going to sit here in this rotting cell and let myself be wasted away and not tell anyone about it. Before all of this happened, sure, my life was at peace. I refuse to let those memories disappear. I will take them to the grave because those memories are of my parents and of when our world was at peace, my own little Utopia and then it changed for the worst. My Utopia was destroyed, obliterated. 

So as I sit here continuously being tainted by my own sorrow and depression, I will write to you the last words that I will ever write. 

To begin with, I was named after the rose; my parent’s most favourite flower. My parents and I were well known throughout the people but that feels like decades ago now, because in the last three years our world has been shaped and morphed as easily as play dough by the government’s hands, it was always bad I guess but now its just gotten out of control. 

I was thirteen years old when my childhood was taken away from me; I lost everything and had nothing left. This is my story;

5 years ago

It was my birthday tomorrow; I was turning thirteen years old. I sat staring out the window at the rain, curled up with my blanket wrapped around me, like I always do after hearing another report on the news about however many people have died, whether it be children or the elderly. They were never spared. 

That’s why I hate the sound of rain, it reminded me too much of tears, the way it lands on the window makes it too hard to ignore the similarities. I think of the rain as a reminder of how harsh and cruel our world is now and how many tears are shed from newly widowed wives or children who must now try and survive on their own. I have never liked the sound of rain.

Ever since I could talk, my mother and father have always warned me about the government feeding all the information to me. It was like they were talking in riddles to begin with, it scared me but as I got older I began to understand everything. I have been haunted repeatedly from faces shown on TV smeared in blood and caked in dirt and grime, some with patches of blackened skin blooming like ever deadly flowers, or singed so much that bodies of the deceased are unrecognizable. 

All of this fighting and horror happens because of protests and riots, it’s been going on for years and has gotten worse lately. People turn against each other over the smallest things such as who owns this part of town and who owns that part. Our population lives in fear of the Government, what are we supposed to do? How do we stop it? Freedom around here is non-existent and to some people it’s only ever achievable in death, our world is a dystopian society and no-one can stop it, people have tried and failed, their loss ending in their death.

“Rose, it’s time to go to bed sweetheart,” whispered my mother as she looked through a gap in my door, her stance making her dark brown hair fall in curtains over her shoulders, her voice brought me out of my horrid recurring revelry and she made her way to my bed.

“Okay mum,” I replied as she sat down by my side.

“It’s a very special day for my little girl tomorrow, becoming a teenager is very important, you wont be my little girl anymore.” Her voice trailed off, and with that she started stroking my face her hand was so familiar to me, the softness of her skin and the ever present scent of lavender was lingering about her, her blue eyes looked at mine intently, they looked like sapphires in the lamplight.

“Mum, can you please sing to me, there was a report of more deaths, more people are dying and it frightens me,” my voice was strained with tiredness and sadness.

“Of course I can sweetie, you’ll be fine, close your eyes and relax we’ll always be here for you no matter what happens,” it was then that I heard the same melody that rings in my ears from when I first heard it, the sweet lullaby that mum wrote for me, she hugged me tight and tucked me in, my eyelids suddenly felt heavy, the scent of lavender relaxing me even further, until the only thing I was conscious of was the echo of my mothers voice swimming in the blackness of my mind, until finally I wasn’t aware of anything.

 I awoke the next morning, my eyes groggy and my throat thick. I was staring up at the roof when I heard a light rap on the door. My mother and father came in carrying a cake with thirteen lit candles. It was accompanied by the sound of their voices singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, sung in perfect harmony, their faces lit by warm smiles and their eyes shining. They came and sat by me and placed the cake on my bed,

“Happy thirteenth birthday baby girl.” Said my dad as he kissed me on the cheek, the roughness of his moustache tickling me as he did. “You’re a teenager now and on your way to womanhood, your mother and I are so proud of you sweetie, we love you so much,” he continued. 

“Your father is right Rose, you make us proud to be your parents,” she was looking at Rose through her long lashes they were wet with tears, the moisture making them cling together and end in star-points.

 

I left for school and couldn’t help but thinking something was wrong, like there was a little itch at the back of my mind.

≈≈≈≈

This was the day when my life changed for the worse, it was a day that I would never forget. It hurts to think back to it. Tears are coming to my eyes and my chest feels so tight but I have to tell you.

≈≈≈≈

School had just finished and I was keen to get home and see my parents. It was 4:00 by the time I got home and I was hungry, I went and raided the pantry hoping I could find some food, dad was getting some groceries on the way home so currently there wasn’t much to eat in the pantry so I just stuck with an apple and a piece of bread. 

I looked at my watch; it was now 5:30. Mum and dad should have been home by now, that itching feeling I had this morning came back to be, that wasn't a good sign. I waited and waited and finally I heard a knock at the front door. 

I jumped up off the chair and went to answer it, ‘They probably just got caught up,’  I thought to myself, never the less I opened the door expecting to see my parents, 

“Why didn’t you just use the keys?” I asked, I looked up expecting to see my parents and stared into the faces of strangers, their eyes were somewhat sympathetic, soft. Thoughts were going through my head, scared thoughts, these people weren’t my parents. 

I observed the strangers standing in front of me. They each had matching uniforms there was a gun hidden behind the jacket of the one on the left; the other I saw had a badge on their belt. I know who these people are I see them everyday on the TV arresting people or helping families who have just lost a beloved, I fear that’s what they are here for; they only ever give out bad news. My silent thoughts were interrupted by one of the policeman, “Good evening, are you Rose Anthon daughter of Jason and Marie Anthon?,” asked the policeman.

 I answered with a simple nod.

“We bring grave news about your parents” He continued, I knew what was coming and so I just stood there bracing myself, “Miss Anthon, at five o'clock this evening we were called to an incident in the main square, your mother and father were killed after being caught in a cross-fire that broke out, we are so sorry for your loss. Our thoughts are with you,” and with that they were gone and I was left standing in the doorway feeling like the ground had fallen beneath me, there was a hole where my heart used to be, the doorframe was the only thing holding me up. My childhood was gone.

≈≈≈≈≈

From that day on I found myself feeling like nothing. I was living on the streets barely staying alive, scraping the bottom of bins and living in cardboard boxes. My life was a living hell, and I couldn’t change that. It consisted of abuse, violence and so many other things. Almost everyone looked down upon me, but I remember there were some people who still had a heart, they would help me, but it was gone as soon as it came. By the age of fifteen I had somewhat adapted to living on the streets. I learnt the tricks on how to avoid being hurt and where to go to get the best food scraps in town. But that didn’t stop the anger and sadness that boiled inside me. The riots and protests had gotten worse; every time I would turn a corner there would be some sort of commotion going on. This is how I found myself in this cell, it seems I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the court wouldn’t believe the truth about what had really happened. Thinking back I understand that they were just doing their job and I am happy with what they decided, better they risk the life of a fifteen year-old homeless girl rather than lose their own life.

The story goes like this;  

≈≈≈≈≈

It was 6:15 in the evening and I was sitting on the roof of a building looking up at the stars forgetting about the entire world and just thinking of my parents. I knew they were up there and I knew they were watching over me. It has been two years, three months and four days since my parents were killed, and it has been two days since I have had any food. I closed my eyes and relaxed trying to ignore the gnawing pain that twisted in my stomach , I could feel the breeze ruffling through my hair and that’s when I heard it; a loud bang just on the ground below me. Without hesitation I automatically jumped up and went to see what it was. After living on the streets for such a long period of time your senses get better and you get used to  being alert in case danger is nearby. Another bang went off and being closer I noticed it sounded more like a gunshot. Not. Good. 

I ran onto the street just in time to see a group of people run off and then I saw it. There was a soldier lying in the middle of the road. I approached him and touched my fingers to his pulse and then placed my hand over his heart. I could feel the warmth of his blood on my hand, there was no pulse and no heartbeat. I sat with him, he looked different compared to the others, more caring it was in his features. I don’t know how long I sat there for but obviously too long because in the next instant I could see other soldiers coming toward me and these guys weren’t very happy. I looked down at my clothes and then my hands sleeked with the blood of the dead soldier lying in front of me. No other thoughts came to me except run.

And so I obeyed and ran as quick as I could except running on empty doesn’t help ones sprinting abilities. I could only go so far before I completely collapsed. Eventually they caught up to me and there was no other way to get away, they were going to get me. I could feel two soldiers holding onto my arms, their grips on me were vice-like. My attempts to get them to let go were as weak as a feather trying to break cement. I struggled and kicked and screamed, nothing was helping.

“LET GO OF ME!,” I yelled “Please, LET ME GO!” I scratched and bit and next thing you know I felt bone connect with bone and I fell limp, black started clouding my vision.

“Your attempts are futile little girl, by the power of the Government you, are arrested for murder,” his voice was filled with venom and was threatening and he was pointing his finger accusingly at me but that’s all I saw before my vision went blurry, and then I blacked out.

I woke up in a square room, and took in my surroundings, the walls were grey and covered in mold, there was a small window out of one’s reach letting in a single ray of sunshine, the smell was horrible and I found myself gagging from the stench. 'Clearly not a five-star rating hotel, how depressing,' I thought to myself. I sat up and instantly felt dizzy, my head ached. 

I brushed my hand across my cheek and felt a lump the size of Texas cover the right side of my face. I was in a jail cell and I couldn’t help but feeling a bit claustrophobic. I wish my parents were here I thought to myself. I laid back down on the little bed in the cell and began to cry, I haven’t cried so hard since my parents died. After a couple of minutes I heard the cell door unlock and more of the governments soldiers came in. They were the same guys who caught me in the street and leading them was the exact same guy who hit me, I cowered and curled myself into a ball.

“Nice face, it suits you,” mocked the  man, he then started laughing and his friends did to. Another man followed behind the rest, he was wearing a suit which proved that he was a higher class than this other man, he held his hand up as if to silence the one who mocked me.

“Enough Captain, you are ordered to take Miss Anthon to court immediately, her punishment will be decided there,” he gestured to me and introduced himself. I was escorted or more dragged by the soldiers into court. I had no lawyer and no witnesses to help me, they will say I’m guilty even though I wasn’t because I’m a 15 year old homeless girl and they will punish me for a murder that I didn’t commit. In these times when the government is cruel, they will give the worst punishments even worse than death, who knows what will happen to me. I sat in the court barely even registering anything the judge said. Finally, “Miss Rose Lillian Anthon, you are to be sentenced to death for the murder of Sergeant Argus Brenton, a respected soldier of the Government’s army. Court is now adjourned,” her speech was ended with the sound of the gravel hitting the anvil. And my fate was decided.

≈≈≈≈≈≈

That sound haunts me to this day but it is still a reminder of how close I am to seeing my parents, my family and everyone else who I cared about. I have been in this jail for two years and every day brought me closer and closer to this day when my whole life will be turned around. I will finally be free after all those years. 

I sat on my bed, a smile was lingering on my lips and I was ready. I could hear footsteps approaching the door and I heard the bolt slide open, I couldn’t help feeling relieved and excited. 

“You girl, we are ready to take you now,  come along,” ordered the captain who hit me at our first meeting.

I smiled and got up from the bed then made my way down the hallway into a courtyard. I remember the judge saying I was to be killed by a gunshot to the head, I am so thankful for her making that decision.  The Captain dragged me into the centre of the courtyard, I really didn’t care how they treated me now I was going to be free, they weren’t. I was pushed down onto my knees and faced toward a far one-sided window, I saw my own reflection in the mirror and didn’t even recognize myself, I was smiling. I looked the happiest that I had been for ages, I only ever looked like this back in those days when my parents and I would have picnics in our backyard at our little home, back when everything was my Utopia, the face I would see when I would fall to sleep with my mother singing or when my father taught me how to ride my bike.  I closed my eyes and faced death full-on with my head held high. Warm tears were streaming down my face, happy tears. A light appeared in front of me and I saw my parents smiling faces, my grandma and grandpa welcoming me. I am now forever free. 

≈≈≈≈≈≈

Author's Note

Once again, grammar may be a little off, but please do share your thoughts and ideas. Anything will help and leaves room for improvement. :)