Fiction: Group 4
I suddenly noticed the shadows of a man behind me, but before I could react, a sharp pain
hit the back of my head. I fell unconscious and the dark devoured me like dinner.
I woke up and found myself in a train station.
The first thing I noticed was the mass of people in the same station as me. I looked around desperately
searching for my mother. I turned in circles, each second increased the surge of anxiety in my stomach. I
shouted her name through the crowd, muffled by the constant chatter and noise beside me. Acting like a
lost puppy, I surveyed my surroundings uncertain of who I was amongst. Children, teenagers, youth. All
seemed to be on the verge of tears, all looking for someone.
I spent the rest of the day walking still in search of my mother, but each step affirmed a realisation that had
slowly crept into my mind. A realisation that I was alone. Lost.
As the air cooled, my eyelids grew heavier. I found a secluded corner for myself. I curled into a tiny ball and
drifted into sleep. I pulled my legs against my chest with my hands as hard as I was pulling the last flicker of
hope that I still might see my mother tomorrow. Pushing away the dread of what tomorrow might bring.
I woke up to the piercing whine of metal scratching metal.
A loud roar of an engine accompanied with the shouting of men came from the other end of tunnel as a
train rolled into the station.
A loud voice suddenly echoed through the tunnel, likely to be amplified by speakers. A stream of
information gushed through.
“This is an underground prison. Your job is to build trains. A meal is earned by building ten trains. There
are guards around the entrance and some patrol around the tunnel. If you disobey their orders or work too
slow, they will drag you out on the side and execute the consequences. Your parents are dead.”
That last sentence hung in the air for an indefinite amount of time. The sudden death proclaimation
breathed in by the many hundreds or more around me.
A scream broke the silence. A young boy was being beaten by three guards as they kicked and slammed
their batons to his head and stomach. One of the guards pulled his gun out and leveled it at the teen’s head.
Without a moment of hesitation or remorse, he pulled the trigger. Sudden fear gripped my chest, squeezing
my heart making it pump faster and faster.
“This is what happens if you don’t start building.” They had shown how easy it was for them to take a life,
how easy it was for one of us to be next.
This generation of youth from the city had never seen public execution before, never feared that their
bowls might be empty for their next meal. They were accustomed to the luxuries and comfort of city life.
The guards knew that and they sucked onto it greedily like a leaking wound. The others surrendered to the
supression like slaves and animals.
For the next several months I played along like the rest of the prisoners, doing whatever the guards asked of
me. Performing acts for the guards, acts that would have been deemed taboo and illegal in society. But in
my head my brain has been thinking.
The guards plainly stated in their first sentence that this was a prison. They plainly stated that our parents
were dead. Normally that would have resulted in a large rebellion, an angry mob charging at the guards.
They crushed that glowing ember in our hearts with the simple demonstration of a boy dying. Yet they did
