The Story Between The Lines

• Claire Westbrook, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

Second trial status: failed. Await third trial for your fait in the community. I clutched the crumpled paper in my hands, reading it for the hundredth time, its words had already branded themselves into my brain with their fiery tongues. A ragged noise filled the room, like the animals we learnt had been eradicated. But that sound was coming from me. My lungs raked in and out, gasping for the air that didn’t help ease my anguish. One last chance. That’s all I had left.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. It was time for work. As I trudged towards the front door of my family pod, I walked over to the Sustenance Injection, one of the only new, clean pieces of technology we had this part of the community. The memory brought me back to trial one. Taking a deep, rattling breath, I closed my eyes, and let the first day of my demise play behind my lids.

It felt like a lifetime ago , but just one week earlier, I had stood in this very spot, staring down the cold machine. Curiosity was not encouraged in the community. But it simply bubbled over in an instance, the words tumbling out of my mouth;

“Caregiver 01, what is the purpose of the sustenance injection?”

A look of shock spasmed across her face before she could compose herself; displays of emotion were looked down upon in the Poor Sector.

“The injection provides enough protein, nutrients and calories for us to last 24 hours, and most importantly The Deciders said that this was the best option for the Poor. Why would anyone ever question, or want to change that?” She said in a monotone voice, like reading off a script.

“I apologise caregiver 01,” I replied, apologies were standard in this part of the community. I turned to the camera in the corner of the room, “I apologise, Deciders, your way is the best way.”

As I had left the house that day, after the interaction, I still remember the cold drop in my gut, like my stomach being frozen and dropped back to its original position; when I saw the clean white piece of paper folded in half on the front steps.

Trial 1 status: failed. Await second trial.

Those were the words. Still branded into my brain days after first reading them. I could still feel the phantom lump of the balled up paper in my pocket, on my way to work that day.

Wait.. WORK! My eyes snapped open flicking to the single clock in the family pod. I was late.

As I bounded through the narrow, twisted streets, I was engulfed by another memory, the second trial that had taken place just a day ago.



The arctic wind lashed through the streets, as ice cold sheets of rain stung my face, leaving my skin raw and numb where they placed their icy fingers.