The Flight Of Number 82

• Eva Homola, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Small spots of light peeked through the wall that was supposed to block the morning light. It was already roasting hot and the sun had barely risen. I threw the sad remains of my one blanket off me and got to my feet. My living area was a small space with a packed earth floor, with haphazardly built wood walls that let in the morning light. There was a large gap between the door and the floor, considering that the Sentries needed to check on us to make sure that no more than one person was in the living area.
I had been living like this for years, ever since I was brought here from Level 6, as a small child. Awaking early because of the sun in my eyes. I heard the clanging of the Bell, lingering chimes shaking the dusty dirt from the walls as the dots of light shook slightly. My door slammed open, presumably by a kick from the dusty brown boots of the Sentry who now stood in the doorway, holding a small tray with a bowl of broth and a minuscule piece of bread balancing on top.
“You’re late for mealtime,” he said, glaring daggers at me and tossing the tray onto my ‘bed’.
I winced as most of the steaming liquid soaked into my already stained and dirty pillow.
I knew that being late for mealtime meant less food and working more hours. I knew that I was a bandit for being late, and I knew that the Sentries all despised me. Wasn’t it only the other day where I had been late for work and had been stuck at the handloom, which was tedious and sluggishly slow but also had to wash the dishes after the evening mealtime?
I put the bowl of drained broth back onto the tray, slick with dirt and grease mixed into an unappetising paste. The noise through the opened door was getting steadily louder and I could hear snatches of conversations as I watched people head towards the factory. I ducked behind the door to change into my work clothes. They still had pieces of string on them from yesterday, and I did my best to pick off all of the loose threads.
I could hear that faint rushing sound, like a giant creature was breathing. The sound never went away and came from the northern outskirts of The Building. I put on my sandals to protect my feet from the scalding concrete and walked towards the long like of people who were gathered outside the factory for inspecting. We were inspected every morning, to make sure we were presentable, but considering the already dirty living conditions that they give us, we were always smeared with dirt and grime, and scabs from the bugs that crawled on the earth floors of our living space.