Aidan: Purple

Friday, December 15 2215, 07:55, Albury, the Commonwealth of Australia

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Get out!” I shout.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The door flies open. I watch with unsteady eyes as the guard marches into my cell.

“It’s time,” he grumbles.

“For what?” I ask.

“For your sentence!” he screams at me.

I raise my eyes defiantly and glare into his. Silence.

“You’re dead, young lad. They’re gonna execute ya.” He bends and locks the metal cuffs onto my hands.

I give no response. What is there to say?

He stands. “Get up,” he booms. “If ya don’t I’ll have to make ya.”

Reluctantly I stand, leaning against the cold, hard wall for support. My back, scarred from the beating, stings painfully as it comes into contact with the wall. My legs ache from the crouching position I had maintained since I was thrown into the cell. I bite my lip and try not to wince.

The guard, Boyce, waits at the door, tapping his foot impatiently. His dark burly figure contrasts with the white, faded door.

Groaning, I amble over. Boyce grabs me by my arm and drags me into the dim corridor.

~

It’s sunny. Patches of white are scattered randomly across the vast blue sky. Outside, a solitary sparrow circles the Albury Prison Center, the doomed place where I’d been confined for the past few months. My eyes struggle to adjust to the sunlight"something I have not seen for a long time. Replacing the constant purple of doom in my mind are the blue skies, the green grasses, the silver buildings, the golden sunlight and the red government banners.

They call my name, they yell at me to move. I comply without a word of defense.

Then I am seated in a worn purple armchair, wrists tied painfully together. I drop my eyes to the polished marble floor. I am the cynosure of all eyes, the star of the angry stares of politicians waiting in the foyer, people who I find revolting. I hear whispers of “doesn’t repent” and “rebellious”.

As I glance up momentarily, I spot my mother, hands also in cuffs, standing at the opposite of the hall. Quickly I turn my gaze back on the floor and hold back my emotions.

Judge Halide, a stubby man in his sixties, glares at me through slitted eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, and studiously I block out his words.

Alyss"my attorney"tells me to pay attention.

I glance up casually. Halide is listing out my offenses"opposing speech against the government, interfering with political matters, defying the government, theft, intended manslaughter"things I have done and things I haven’t. I see a corner of his blood red lips tilting up slightly. I clench my fists tightly.

Halide delivers my sentence. I close my eyes, guessing what he will say. According to Alyss, there will only be two choices. The first is life imprisonment. The second is capital punishment"in other words, I may be sentenced to death. For a moment, I contemplate the idea of being executed. It doesn’t seem as frightening as most people think. Yet I know I should continuer d'espérer, French for 'keep hoping'.

“According to the law of the Commonwealth of Australia,” begins Halide, putting a stress on each and every word.

The audience on the foyer catches their breath.

Suddenly my hands feel all wet and hot. Sweat rolls down my forehead.

“Aidan Wilder, seventeen, is sentenced to capital punishment,” I hear. “His execution will be carried out on the twenty-first of December at nine in the morning.”

Judge Halide clamps shut his black book. I see him smirk. It’s all I can do not to run out and strangle him.

Up in the foyer, the prime minister gets up and leaves, his face expressionless. I hear people releasing their breath. Are they pleased? Or dissatisfied?

“End of session,” announces the judge. Throwing one last look at me, he marches out the room.

From the corner of my eye I see my mother turn her head to the side as she is led away by two guards. My vision gets blurry.

“Let’s go,” says Alyss gently. Two bailiffs walk over and take me by my elbows.

As I am escorted away, I throw a last glance at the window.

Sunlight, the symbol of freedom. Will I ever see you again?

~

Back in my cell, I sit on my bed, my head in my hands. I reminiscence over the past, when my entire family hadn’t been arrested, and my life was still going fine. My days of rainbow colors have long been gone, replaced by the dark purple of doom.

I come from a family of one of the poorest villages in Australia. Our dirty slum with a run-down sofa and a wobbly table"that’s where I spent my first eleven years. Then I won a scholarship to Hale College, and my life changed completely. This school is where the wealthy or poor but talented people go. I’m in the second group. Most people are either math geniuses or gifted musicians. I’m not. I’m a runner.

I run athletics, cross-country, whatever you name. This came from my childhood days of running loose in the nearby forests, and the large plains, where we’re not supposed to go to. I remember my father teaching me to run, to swim, and most importantly, build furniture from the limited materials found in the woods. I remember all the fun times I had with my friends. I was poor, but I felt like I had everything.

When I got into Hale College, things changed. Students were rich, like Matthew, the businessman’s nephew, and Liliane, daughter of the chairman of the Australian Communist Party. They didn’t look down on us because we were poor, and we treated them equally even though they weren’t particularly gifted in anything, but there was an invisible barrier between the rich group and the talented group.

I recall the times when I couldn’t stop thinking about Liliane. She was a quiet girl, thoughtful, mysterious, but what attracted me was her eccentricity. I would spot her smiling suddenly for no obvious reason, and find her in tears in the next minute. She painted"yes, she was wealthy and talented"of the weirdest possible things in the world. Even the unthinkable. I’ve seen her paint aliens, dragons, dead dinosaurs, abstract stuff… I knew there was a reason behind every artwork she creates, and it sure kept me occupied for a few weeks a time.

It was never going to last, my days of freedom. I knew this was going to happen, but I couldn’t accept it. After my grandparents died, my father was arrested and executed because of an article he wrote in the newspaper about the government abusing the rights of the people. Then it was my uncle, and my aunt. All for speaking against the government. When they came for me, I was ready. I didn’t think I would escape. Even if I did, what was still left for me?

Tears come out of nowhere as I think of my mother, her frail exhausted figure, back in the sentencing hall. She didn’t deserve this. It’s been a big blow"having the whole family taken away and being arrested herself even though she did not accuse the government of anything.

They kill one, they kill everyone. Liliane’s words reverberate through my head, reminding me about the unspoken rule of the sentencing system.

I remember my father, always telling me to believe in myself and go for my dreams. I remember my mother, years ago at the peak of our starvation, screaming at me that I should leave the farm and attend Hale College, just because. I remember my uncle saying that I was the all the generations past and present of our family, and carrier of all the hopes of our future. I remember my grandmother, insisting that there is always a chance and I should go for it, no matter what.

Tears are nothing. They won’t help you get past obstacles. They won’t point you to the right road.

I decide to escape.

Reviews

[schnickythep]

Nice start! I like the situation and the flow.

[Sarah]

Thanks!!