Young Writers Society

A/N- This is based off of a book called Unwind, but you don't have to read the book to understand the prompt. Just know that unwinding is when you take troubled teenagers and you salvage them for body parts so they'll be useful in ways they couldn't be in their undivided state. Tithes are teenagers being unwound for religious purposes. This story is told from the perspective of an OC who's a tithe about to be unwound. (Sorry for the long description, I'm just very fond of this piece. Anyway this is my first upload, hope you enjoy!)

I’m not scared. I remember the first time my parents explained what unwinding was, what a tithe was, the fact that I am one. It should have all gotten easier from there. It has. I had my tithe party and I knew what it was for, I knew it was the last party I would ever attend in a single piece. I knew that once I got out of the bus and began walking towards the harvest camp that I would never come out. Not as me. I didn’t care what kind of consciousness I would have in the years to come; all that mattered is that my body helped people. The purpose of my existence is to help people. I am prepared for that. I’m not scared.

I lived with other tithes for a while. We were patiently awaiting the day where we could finally give our lives meaning by giving them away. That’s what we were meant for. We had spent our whole lives detaching ourselves from the idea that we had a right to our bodies, because as tithes, we didn’t. We clung to the idea that we had a right to our minds before realizing that it was useless. Tithes aren’t even human, really. We’re some kind of creature that’s life starting ticking away as soon as it’s brought into this world and we know when the time’s going to run out and we know that it’s very soon.

I turned thirteen about three weeks ago. It had always seemed so far away as a small child. Being seven years old, thirteen seemed like a lifetime away. So I let myself live. I let myself enjoy the feeling of the sun on my face and I let myself embrace my different emotions; I freely explored different parts of myself as I tried to win the race to figure out who I am before I ran out of time. I forget when that all stopped. Probably when I realized that thirteen really wasn’t far away at all. I had worked so hard to dehumanize myself, which was hard, considering that my own consciousness is the single most human thing I ever have or will experience.

But I guess it must have worked, because I’m not scared.

Even as I’m walking to Chop Shop, even as the guards walk closely behind me, I am not scared. I am not trembling. I am not close to tears. I am God’s gift and I am prepared to give up my right to my body and my mind to help people. I feel memories flit into my mind and I push them away. I do not want them. I won’t have them soon enough, anyway. They never meant anything to me, they never meant anything to my parents; they never meant anything to anybody on this entire planet. They are worthless and will only stand in the way of fulfilling my life’s purpose.

I do not want to remember the time I kissed Dakota on the lips, I do not want to remember the time I nearly drowned and my mother saved me, I most certainly do not want to remember all the times I’ve heard my family tell me that they love me, I don’t want to remember how happiness feels, I do not want to remember how it feels to be alive because I’m not livingand I never was.

The guard waiting outside the door opens it for me and I see the operating table inside. It all looks so sterile and so sickeningly colorful. Take a seat, I hear somebody say. My legs don’t want me to go forward and take a seat. I don’t want to take a seat. I want my body. I want my toes and my fingernails and my lungs and my heart and my oddly shaped nose; I want it all.

“No,” I can feel my lips moving and I can hear my voice but I didn’t mean to say anything. I cannot stop the shaking now and my heart is beating faster than it ever had before. I am sweating profusely and the memories are hitting me with all their might, trying to instill upon me that I am human; I have emotions and feelings and wants and dreams and I could have a future if not for all this.

Thoughts race in my mind and each one hits me with a new kind of intensity. Going to high school, graduation, getting a job, moving out, getting married, having kids-I plan out my entire life in seconds, and I crave the time needed to live it.

I feel the guards pushing me into the room and I manually move one foot forwards. Then I move the other. I am walking. I am walking straight into the Chop Shop. I am being a good little tithe. I feel wetness on my shirt and I realize that I am sobbing. I cannot seem to stop my body from shaking violently.

“Can you please take a seat?” I hear the voice repeat.

“I don’t wanna die,” I croak.

“Relax, this isn’t the end! Your priest is running a bit late, so can you please just sit down while we wait?”

For the first time in years, I am reminded that I am human. I will not be a human very soon. I try to swallow and I realize that my throat is dry with fear. Fighting is useless. Fighting is unwise. Fighting would just make sure I missed my last chance to make everything right. I take a seat and try to stop my crying. I am not scared. I’m terrified.