[WP] Every baby is taken away by the government and returned when they are ten years old. They never remember what happened in those years, but they always recognize their parents. You, however, remember everything. And those aren't your parents.

The Sleeping Sickness

From the youngest rosy-cheeked child, to the oldest woman with crows feet crinkling her eyes, to the barista who takes your coffee order, to the man and woman who raised you for those first impressionable years of your life--indeed every living, breathing human being with any of the faintest awareness of their own existence--mankind is insipidly stupid. 
But the day that every single person of my generation lost their memories of the past five years was a special kind of stupid. 
We were all sitting in our very first literature class of our sophomore year of high school. I had chosen a desk in the second to last row, because I had arrived a little late and every seat in the back row was taken. My spine stiffened when I saw that. The back row was safe. You had the one thing you could trust behind you--a wall. You could hunch your shoulders and defend yourself with your empty, hollow stare that unnerved all who passed under it. The back row was survival.
So I was left to feel the presence of their glances from all sides. Every movement I made was rigid under the weight of their company. It is not easy being surrounded by children who were trying to murder you only days before. 

“Roast her alive,” Berg said. He was a slight boy with tiny dark eyes, like pieces of coal drilled into his skull. At the moment he was stripped to the waist, holding a torch and peering at me through the flame’s light. The heat ripped at my skin. I did everything I could to back away, but the knots around my wrists would not give. 
“I agree,” added Toni, stepping forward with a sneer. “Burn the murderess!”
Ah, Toni. Crimson markings covered her arms and legs. She wore a necklace of lion teeth around her neck. We used to be friends. Then again, that was before I plunged a tent peg into her sleeping brother’s head. 

The woman who had been sitting at the desk stood up at exactly 8 o’clock and took her place at the front of the room. She had curly hair cut short, circle-framed glasses, and glowing mocha skin. She wore a light pink cardigan and khakis. This instructor did not seem intimidating...wait! She was bearing her teeth. 
“Good morning students, and welcome to the first day of class,” she began. Her voice was disturbingly pleasant to listen to. “My name is Miss Lenina. I will be your explorations guide and counselor throughout the academic year.”
That’s funny. The last time I was in a closed space with these people, I was at the front of the room. And I was their master. 

“I am here in front of you today with a heavy heart,” I pronounced each syllable slowly, making eye contact with each person in the crowd. I looked down at my toes, as if gathering my composure. “The disease that has been plaguing Jordan for the past few weeks killed him last night.”
I did not raise my eyes yet. Instead, I willed myself to cry and let the tears fall. A gasp rippled throughout the room. A sharp cry from one person in particular--I knew it must have been Toni. She was born twenty-six months after Jordan. She loved him more than any other person on this island. It almost made me feel sorry for what I had done. 

“Take out a piece of paper and a pencil,” Miss Lenina’s smooth voice rolled across the room. I had not brought that with me. Instead, this morning I had stuffed my backpack with anything that could come close to a weapon. A razor blade, a pair of scissors, all of the hatpins in the dresser drawers. 

“Do you need a piece of paper?” a familiar voice asked from behind me. My blood ran cold. The knife should be in my back at any moment. I turned my head. Sure enough, it was Toni sitting behind me. Her hand was outstretched, offering me a piece of paper. There was a pitying smile on her lips. How was she not angry? What could she be planning? “Thank you,” I whispered, taking the piece of paper from her. I turned back around, robotically. “Oh and Violet?” Again I froze. Slowly rotated to face her. “Here’s a pencil, too,” she added. There was no trace of malice. No conniving gleam in her eye. Was this the same girl who had carved crass words into my skin as I stood tethered to a post?

“He loved you!” Toni screamed, digging the piping hot chisel into my forearm. “Jordan loved you and you killed him! My brother!” She yanked at my hair for added emphasis. I shrieked. “I thought his disease would spread,” I yelled. “I thought it would spread and he would kill us all! I was doing what I thought was best for the community.” Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. My vision was hazy from the smoke, from too many hits on the head. Even worse--memories of Jordan came flooding in every time Toni said the words my brother. His hazel eyes. His dark hair. The large aquiline nose that seemed to take a different shape every time he turned his head. The way his olive skin had turned pale in those final days. The horrible, crawling insects that moved about beneath the surface of his flesh. “I loved him too,” I whispered. “Liar!” Toni screamed, thrusting her fist into my stomach. I retched over her shoulder. “Is that why you murdered him in his sleep when he needed you to take care of him? You know that he never would have sacrificed you for the community, regardless of what you had become!” “Kari told me his sickness would kill us all,” I protested. “I don’t believe you,” my friend’s voice was saturated with hate. She would never see me as the girl she had laughed and cried with, the girl who had braided her hair and told all of her hopes and fear. I was her brother’s murderess, and nothing else.

“So I know you must all have a lot of questions,” continued Miss Lenina. “However, I want this to be an organized, civil discussion. You understand why I cannot have everybody shouting their questions at once.” She passed on a knowing smile to the students, who chuckled in agreement. Obviously that kind of discord would be abominable.

The morning before I was burned at the stake, I remember the heavy knock on my door. I had cried myself to sleep the night before. Despite Kari’s assurances that I had done the right thing, I kept seeing Jordan’s face every time I closed my eyes. “You know how the community loves Jordan,” Kari had said. He was Jordan’s closest friend, and third in command after Jordan and me. He was the community doctor, because of the hours he had spent studying the allotment of medicines and drugs sent from home with us. There were only two hundred of us sent to the island when we were ten years old, and not many of us had the reading comprehension at the time to understand all of the long words on the prescriptions. Kari was especially intelligent. He recognized Jordan’s sleeping sickness right away. “The disease will spread to everybody,” he confided in me, after seeing the first few creatures crawling inside Jordan. “You have to kill him before the insects start to breed. Have you two been…?” He mimed something intimate with his hands. I nodded. “You’re lucky he hasn’t already passed it onto you,” he said gravely. His pale blue gaze gave away none of his emotions. He had always had a gift for staying calm, even under the most dire circumstances. I did not want to kill him. I wished more than anything that I could die in his stead. But our teachers and parents gave us one objective when they sent us off to this island--to survive. The community came first. So when they came banging on my door, I knew that there was no reason to fight.

“Number your papers 1-10,” Miss Lenina said. The sound of one hundred and ninety nine pencils scratching on sheets of paper. After we were done, we looked to the front of the classroom politely. “Now write down ten questions, and when you are done please raise your hands.” “Questions about what?” I blurted out. We hadn’t studied any material yet. Miss Lenina met my gaze, unblinking. “Anything,” she replied. “--anything at all.” I was stupefied. My first question was, of course, why are the people around me smiling amiably when I make eye contact with them when I had murdered their leader and friend?

“Are you sure there’s no other way?” I asked Kari. “Believe me, if there was any way he could be saved I would make it happen,” he confirmed. “He’s my comrade too, you know.” I did know. We had all been friends since we had arrived here five years ago, but Kari and Jordan had always been especially close. We were both losing him to the sleeping sickness.

After two minutes, all hands in the classroom were raised. “Oh my, you guys are quick!” Miss Lenina exclaimed. She gestured towards a girl in the front row. “What is your first question?” All the hands went down. The girl tilted her head to the side inquisitively. “What happened over the past five years?” One hundred and ninety nine students. Total silence. That’s when it dawned on me--they didn’t know.

I remember the first time I locked eyes with Jordan when we were ten. I remember how I loved his dark hair and I would poke him in the ribs until he paid attention to me. I remember the first time we kissed, around sundown one evening. I remember the sickening CRACK! as I plunged a tent peg through his temple.

Miss Lenina informed us that the last five years--from the time we were ten to fifteen--was series of tests to determine where we would be placed in society. Those who exhibited high leadership potential faced increasingly more difficult challenges throughout our time there. “Only one of you showed complete devotion to the community as a whole,” she explained. My stomach fell to my toes. “That individual sacrificed everything she loved for the good of the group. She has had the privilege of retaining her memories, and she will be trained to join the board of controllers of the Confederate States of North America.” She turned and locked eyes with me. “Congratulations, Violet Pocks.”

/r/WritingPrompts Thread