Sacrifice

My eyes flicker open and I slip out of the hazy half-sleep. Chad, my cousin, is whispering in my ear.
“Mina, wake up!” I sit up while combing the knotted locks of my blonde hair. I must have somehow fallen asleep amid all the excitement of the other members of the community.
“President Carn is about to make the speech! I can’t believe you fell asleep!!” Chad blurts. He may be eight, a year older than me, but I find him almost unbearably childish. Grandpa Boris used to say I was wise beyond my years. That was before the community sacrificed him last year. I yank my hair into a ponytail and follow Chad into the community room.

The room is a massive dome of black metal with cold, tiled floors. The holographic computer screens flicker off as we file into the room. A table has been set with plates and scientific equipment is hastily being cleared away. President Carn begins the same speech he tells every year, about the nuclear war that destroyed all life on Earth, apart from us. Sometimes scientists venture out of the center in bright orange suits and we all see the footage off their eyepieces. They don’t leave too often because it is so dangerous. The scientists are working on a particle which when released outside will clean the Earth of radioactivity. Until then we are trapped in this research center made of rare HighTech enhanced metal. A scientist who worked here brought friends and family into these facilities when the first nuclear bomb dropped. Soon the food and water ran out and the RealHumans died. However, all Mods are able to last for up to a year without food and that is how we survived. It’s lucky, really, that we live in a research center because we have the facilities to keep Modifying babies.

President Carn finishes his speech and the buzz of chatter soon fills the hall. Most people tell stories of flowers and grass and picnics in hanging gardens. It’s been over a century since our ancestors fled here and even the smallest details of outside life are recited so they never fade from our memories. Every year two people are sacrificed for food, and we have been Modified to filter the brown water we collect from the water tanks. Mostly the oldies are sacrificed but sometimes they will choose someone else, someone non-important. The year Grandpa Boris was sacrificed I refused to eat and they had to knock me out with drugs and feed me through a tube in my nose. I hope the people ushered from the room aren't close to me. An old lady is ushered out and she lingers long enough for a few hugs and whispered farewells before walking calmly from the room. I look down at my lap and cross my fingers with my eyes squeezed shut. Not Chad, not Mother, not Father. A cold hand clamps around my shoulder.

Me.

I’m being sacrificed.

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