They execute anyone who doesn’t believe. Almost everyone doesn’t, but us people don’t say a thing. If we do, we are executed the next day, with none stop torture throughout the night. They first whip your feet with a leather cord till they look like a ripped up shirt, then they slit your arm, from the wrist to the elbow and put your arms in hot water, so they bleed out more. Your screams are broadcasted on live radio with a step-by-step introduction to everything that is happening. They do this, so everyone knows not to mess with the government; it goes on like this all night, the officers finding new and improved ways to torture that one person who spoke out. Then the next day, on all the televisions, all the radios, and any form of communication they broadcast the person being stoned to death.
“That’s Hennery Bellow” said an old women’s voice from behind us in the jostling crowd. There was a TV on, in the window of the electronic store, “The poor dear, used to go to school here”
“Eh!” another voice answered her with a depressed satisfaction “He just wanted his voice heard, like most of us do, Hail the Grey!”
Then the ladies departed and pushed past me and my sister, and I clutched her arm and looked at the TV. Hennery was being carried in a white sack; you could see blood staining the bag as he was slowly reclined in a half dug up hole. He was then buried to his elbows, he cried out a quick prayer to God and an “I love you” to his family, as our dictator, Austin Grey yelled Aim! Then, there was silence, everyone on the streets, on bikes and in cars stopped and turned to the TV’s and listened to the radios, Mary slid her face behind me arm. Hire! The Grey yelled out. I closed my eyes as Hennery was pelted with stones; screams came from his freckled face but I could tell they were slowly dying away, just like him. The crowds around us started to shuffle along again, but with a quite mumble about them. I turned my sister around, and Mary held my hand tighter than ever before.
“Charlotte?” Mary asked me, very quietly. “Hennery’s gone, isn’t he?” Her dark blue eyes looked up at me anxiously; I gazed at her and tossed her light brown waves in my hands and whispered sweetly in my little sister’s ear,
“Yes, but he is still alive in our hearts, don’t you ever forget that,” We turned around quickly and walked away from the screen that had showed our dying brother.
The crowd was pressing in close on either side of us as we squeezed underneath the metal gate and onto the stone built bridge. We started to jog, but the cracked stone made me trip up a couple times, making me dig my fingers into Mary’s pale arm as we jogged along. The market people dodging in our way, as we hurried to school,
“Want to buy an apple for school, girls?” one man exclaimed; I shook my head excessively and kept going. The streets were full of men and women, bikes and all sorts of nifty things. Lace for dresses, flour for baking, and even chewing gum made from wheat. A rusty yellow jeep honked as we skid in front of it, but I didn’t dare glimpse back, because it could cost me a beating if it was a government official or officer. You didn’t dare look in their eyes.
We kept our pace as we reached the St. Austin Grey Balasim Educational Academy, complementary of our government. We rushed forth to the huge sandstone building as the school bell rang. I took a quick halt, Oh No! We are late! I thought to myself. Mary glared up at me with a miserable look in her eyes. We slowly and steadily walked up the stairs and knocked on the huge brass knocker.
The double oak door was covered with carved pictures, of owls, book and other educational signs. Over it were the words, We Teach the New Balasim Society. I hung my head with sorrow until I heard the door creaking open; I smiled as I saw small Ms. Gregory. She grinned at us woefully.
“Lucky I answered the door, aren’t we ladies” She said, her jet black hair was tied in a bun on top of her head and her huge metal spectacles sagged on her face with a purple cord suspended from the ends of her glasses and around her wrinkled neck. Ms. Gregory motioned us in and led us down the long hallway.
A plush forest green carpet lay on the grey lament floor and the walls were white and creamy. Silver lockers lined the walls, as well as dark brown mahogany wood doors, with brass door knobs. The ceiling propelled forest green draperies with our school logo and motto on every second one. It sickened me to know that I had to go to this school, and I had to try to act cheerful even today.
Ms. Gregory led us to Mary’s class first. She unlocked the door from the bundle of keys she had and exposed us to the grade one class. The teacher Mrs. Emery was teaching the children about patterns, she glared over with her shiny black eyes. Mary sulked behind me as her thin, lean body developed atop us. I stood in front of Mary, and glared back at the teacher, knowing it could cost me a slap across the face, but Ms. Gregory saved us both.
“They have both been punished severely by myself” she lied. “The best thing to do would be to just get back to class”
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Emery spoke solemnly letting her pale white lips hang as she spoke, making her voice sound mumbled. Mary left with her teacher and I left with Ms. Gregory. We carried on down the hallway and as we entered in to the grade ten sections I started to drag myself even slower than before, so we wouldn’t get to my grade eleven section so fast. Ms. Gregory’s swift feet noticed me lacking in speed and stopped to let me catch up. She looked at me hopelessly.
“I am sorry about your loss this morning” she started, she patting my back as a comforting gesture, but it didn’t do much for me.
“I’m just scared that me… and my sister… we will be next…” I gazed up at Ms. Gregory, then started again, “Just like my… mom… dad… and now… my brother” She hugged my tense body, and I let myself go and cried. I let the tears run down my face and drip onto Ms. Gregory’s shoulder. That would usually cost me the strap. It’s not right to show your emotions in school.
“That won’t happen, unless you try to overthrow the government” she said holding me tighter,
“But I want to… that’s the thing, I want my mother, my father and my brothers wish to become free… I want it to happen… so they didn’t just die for nothing!” I held on to Ms. Gregory tighter and she rubbed my back severely as she took hold of my hands and looked me straight in the eye.
“Let’s take you to the nurse” She said calmly, she walked me down to the nurse’s office and we slowly glanced in to see Mr. Johnson, peeping out of his office door. His office, was small and everything in it was white. From the floor and walls, to the bed covers and pillow case’s. There was a small bathroom on the left side of the room, at the back were a bed and a small sink, with a divider so people could have privacy. On the right wall was a door leading to Mr. Johnson’s private office, and in the front of the room there were two small sofa chairs, and a little table with magazines on it.
“Oh! You poor thing” Mr. Johnson exclaimed as he looked out in the hallway and closed and locked the door behind us. Ms. Gregory sat down on one of the sofa chairs and motioned for me to sit too, “I expected to see you here with Ms. Gregory. You always are after… this happens” He whispered the end as if wanting not wanting to say it. I didn’t want to hear it ether. He took my hand and had me sit down on the little nurse’s bed.
Mr. Johnson took my temperature. His emerald green eyes eyeing the thermometer closely and his bleach blond hair was cut army short to stay out of his face during work. He told me to lie down, and he put a warm cloth on my forehead. I did as I was told and crawled under the covers of the small bed and closed my eyes; I could hear Mr. Johnson, and Ms. Gregory chatting in Mr. Johnson’s private office,
“The poor dears,” Ms. Gregory started “they have no mother, father or older brother now”
“Do you know who they are staying with now?” Mr. Johnson asked,
“I heard they have to stay with their uncle now. He is a full Balasim supporter, an official to be precise”
“The poor girls’. It will be awful for them, they were raised the complete opposite! Their parents were rebellions!”
“I know, I wonder how they will adapt to life now”
“I wish one of us could adopt them, and then they will at least still be with their own kind”
“Me too, Sam Johnson, me too…”
