Young Writers Society

Raeleigh Stark

"Thanks," I muttered, not sure whether I appreciated her kindness or not. The others filed over, small smiles of kindness on some of their faces as they sat their trays down around me. I kept my arms crossed, waiting for the awkward silence to pass.

"I'm Scar by the way," the girl said, reaching a hand out towards me. I extended a hand of my own, forgetting momentarily of the gauze around my left wrist.

"I guess you already know my name," I said, shaking her hand, but she wasn't looking at me. She was eyeing my bandaged hand and for a moment I tried to imagine what I must look like to other people. Everyone at Oakland Institute was here for some reason or the other, and a few of them were nutcases. Showing up with a bandage on my wrist probably led them to assume I was some suicidal freak or something, and who was I to correct them? They could think whatever they wanted; I knew the truth and that was all that mattered.

Ruben Orwell

The moment Ruben stepped into the cafeteria, he could sense it—that slight feeling of unrest, tenseness, that told him that something had happened. The usual chatter of the food hall, used by the students in a vain attempt to block out the vile food and the smell, was punctuated by unaccustomed whispers. Students glanced around furtively, the whites of their eyes flashing briefly before they leaned in to share the newest snippets of information.

Ruben shuffled along in the queue, eyes downcast, trying desperately to make out something of the conversation between the two senior girls just ahead of him. It might come in useful later.
"...death wasn't an accident..."
"...but they said..."
"...can't trust them..."
Of course he knew all about the death of the Thomas boy, by now. Who didn't? No less than eighty lashes by anyone's account.

Ruben nearly dropped the tray when a large blob of grey paste was splattered onto his plate.
"Don't wanna drop it, Ruby," smirked a boy with a nose that looked as though it had been broken twice. "That goop's dirty enough without landing on your shoes."
Ruben's face reddened in indignation. "Stop teasing me or I'll tell the guards!" he squeaked.
The boy flung a dirty gesture at him and stalked off.
Ruben found a seat in a corner and stirred a spoon through the food, really listening to the conversations around him. And from the sound of it, things weren't improving. In fact, things were going worse than ever at the Oakland Institute.

Emily found herself drifting off and thinking of her home in San Fransisco. It had been three years since she had been sent away, and what had once been so clear was fading away. She couldn't remember the details of her house anymore, and that scared her. The faces of her parents and friends were a blur. She needed to get out of here, and she needed to get out of here now. But even if she did, where would she have to go? She was in the middle of nowhere, in the forests of an unfamiliar country. But there were large cities in Canada. If she just escaped the forest compound, maybe she could explain the situation to a friendly person and they'd take her to a big city. And she could live with a foster family far away. But it would be difficult to manage, and she wouldn't want to do it alone.

She eventually found herself getting up out of her bed and walking to the cafeteria. Somehow she'd find a way to talk to the others. For now, she sat alone.

Julien Utkin

"Get up, ya dirty rat."

Julien squinted up at the circle of light opening above him. With a small, deranged laugh he wiped at the dry tracks of tears on his face and the new, fat ones brimming in the corner of his eyes. Being in the dark was one of the few things that really affected him on an emotional level these days, and he'd been in "the pit" for longer than he wished to know. Two guards dropped down into the hole and one hoisted him up by his shirt collar. Jul flinched, but couldn't stop the grin that was pulling at his face.

"I swear these kids get crazier every day, look at this lil shit smiling. Get on, boy!"

A ladder dropped down and Julien quickly climbed up it. The fresh air was almost dizzying as he inhaled it and he let out a loud laugh. Finally, he was out. He was just about to head off when a hit to the side of his face caused his head to snap to the left and his knees to buckle. He let out a cry and dropped down onto all fours. Blood pooled in his mouth and he spat it out on the concrete.

"What the-"

"If we catch ya sneaking out past curfew again, it'll be worse."

Julien gritted his teeth together and wiped his mouth. He was struggling to stand when a boot hit him in the gut, making him fall down flat on the hot ground.

"Well get up then! Go on!"

'Asshole.'

He stood up slowly, on shaky legs, and hobbled off towards the direction of the main camp. It looked to be about morning time, so everyone was probably at breakfast. His stomach growling reminded him of how long it'd been since he had something to eat, so he headed quickly towards the mess hall. He grabbed and plate and plopped down in the closet available seat, next to a little girl whose name he was almost completely sure was Emily.

"Morning," he grumbled, mouth already half full with food.

Alex Barton

Alexandra,

Your mother and I are very sorry, but we won't be able to visit you next weekend. Your sister ha-

"Ugh!" Alex snarled, immediately crushing the letter and angrily throwing it at the trashcan, missing it by a few inches. Anytime her parents wrote about her sister, Alex would stop reading right then and tear or crumble the letter.

"Stupid Lola. Stupid success. Stupid grad school." She hissed at the ball, making sure to stomp on it as she walked out of her bedroom and towards the mess hall.

She was so over the disgusting food they served here; she'd been in Oakland for about three years now, with one break. Her parents took her out for a day to "hang out" and brought her back within the hour due to an "emergency call! Lola-" and she stopped listening. Simply slammed the car door shut and, almost happily, walked through security to go to her room.

Runny oatmeal ran across her tray and mixed into her canned peaches. Nasty stuff. Alex found her way over to a table with dirty ol' Julien and plopped down, shoveling the food into her mouth without really tasting it.

She caught the disgrunted look Julien flashed her and scowled. "What? After a while, you learn not to taste and just eat. Shit, I haven't tasted anything in a while."

A quiet sigh caught her attention and Alex focused on the silent girl who she had to think for a few minutes, struggling to put a name to the face. Emily. That's it. The sister of the little boy who was killed.

She was suddenly awkward, unsure of what to say. Sorry? Are you okay? Need a hug? Well, at least he ain't in this shithole.

That last one was tempting, so tempting to say. Alex literallyhad to bite her tongue, refused the urge, then cleared her throat. "Sorry about Michael." She muttered lamely.

Emily

Emily was so absorbed in our thoughts that she didn't notice the two people that approached her at the table.

"Hi," she said quietly, hoping that they would go away. But they didn't. They apologized about Michael and she was so numb she just nodded.

"What's the matter, Em?" asked the girl, Emily couldn't remember her name.

"Don't call me Em," Emily said quietly. She felt tears forming in her eyes. She just wanted to be left alone; why couldn't they see that? Emily hated this place so much, more than she hated anything in the world. Why did she have to be in the truck with her grandfather that day? Why did she have to get sent here? She'd rather be dead.

"Hey, you're in our support group, right?" asked the boy.

"Yeah," Emily said quietly. "I think so." That was when something clicked. It was her and them and she couldn't remember the other five, but she'd been thinking about escaping. And maybe these would be the people that would help her. "I'd like to be alone, please. But I'll see you guys later."

The boy and the girl left, but Emily smiled. She would tell them tonight. And she was certain that they would be on board with it; who liked this place anyway?

Ruben Orwell

Ruben sucked his spoon, listening intently to the chatter around him. The trick was really to latch on to a single conversation and somehow block out all the other noise. He skimmed through the options emanating from the nearby tables.

"… and the food today isn't all that bad."
"Who're you trying to kid? It's bleeding porridge with the water running off of it!"
"I don't mind it—it's better than those pies. Remember the roach I got floating on the grease?"
Ruben ejected the spoon with a dull pop and examined it, turning it slowly to scrutinize its dull surface. Wrong conversation. He tried again.

"A dollar for a ciggy. Come on—s'a bargain, man!"
"I'll get better at Johnson's. He sells for eighty pence."
"That's cos he makes 'em with lavender."
Smoking was punished severely at Oakland. Ruben glanced quickly over at the table. Gussie and Pratt. He saved their names in his memory and continued his search.

"Sorry about Michael."
Ruben pricked his ears, hazarding a peek at the speaker. This had to be about the Thomas boy.
"Hi."
Ruben did a double take. How had he not seen her? It was Michael's sister, no less. This would be good.
"What's the matter, Em?" a girl asked. Ruben identified her as Alex by the piercing in her lip. He knew several guards who were itching to rip it out.
"Don't call me Em," the Thomas girl said in a slightly strangled voice.
"Hey, you're in out support group, right?" asked a boy after a short silence, whom Ruben immediately recognized as Julien Utkin. He looked away quickly. You didn't look for trouble with Julien if you liked your skin the color it was.
"Yeah, I think so," Emily replied. "I'd like to be alone, please. But I'll see you guys later."
Ruben glanced at her again. The others had left, but Emily was not blinking away tears, or even gritting her teeth, trying not to show her grief. She was smiling. It was an odd, sinister sort of smile—reminiscent of serial killers or psychopaths.

Ruben knew—she had a plan. And he would hear it, one way or another. The first step was to listen in on her group therapy session. He had his own plan—hide in a cupboard, wait for her to talk, and reap the rewards. Something big was coming, oh yes.

Julien Utkin

"I'd like to be alone, please. But I'll see you guys later."

"Whatever kid," he said as he rose from the bench. "Uh.. keep holding up."

He'd only heard briefly about what happened to her brother, as news really didn't travel well down in the pit. He only caught snippets of the guards conversations from above when they talked just a bit too excitedly about events. He knew her brother had died, but he didn't know how or what was going to be done about it.

Either way, it didn't concern him. Julien stuck a last piece of toast in his mouth before dumping his tray and going off the find his crew. They had more important things to talk about, like how they were going to get out of this place. Julien was turning eighteen in a few months, along with his best bud Crock, and they made a pact to get the hell out before that happened. Crock had been caught when Julien was caught, but they were always harder on Jul so he was almost completely sure that the boy had gotten out before him. His suspicions proved right as he threw open their cabin door and saw him getting dressed for field work.

"Jul," Crock greeted with a huge smile. "Man, they kept you locked up forever!"

"No shit," he replied as he tackled his friend with a hug. "Okay I'm gonna go shower, but we have plans to make. Meet me tonight, after work."

"I don't know about that. You just got out."

"Hey, trust me, bro. I'm getting us out of here."

He flashed Crock a smile before heading off. He refused to spend another day at this camp.

---

Julien leaned against the building, hands in his pockets waiting for Crock. He wasn't into the whole group therapy thing the camp was trying to perform so he opted out of going. He'd been waiting for Crock for nearly ten minutes though and was growing impatient.

"Come on dude, what are you doing," he said under his breath, peering out into the darkness.

Five minutes later he did see someone approaching, but it wasn't who he was looking for. Crock didn't carry a gun. Julien's eyes widened as he noticed the guard approaching him. If he was caught out without permission again...

Julien let out a small scream and sprinted the opposite way, towards the stupid little therapy meeting. He spotted the first group and entered it quickly, sitting between the two girls from breakfast.

"Yo," he panted as a sort of greeting.