105

• Elizabeth Atack, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

When you can’t have emotions, a voice, opinions, a personality, or even a name, letting go is happiness. And your only way out of this madness. We were drilled into as children to never leave this island. And if we did, we would never come back and we would bring dishonour to our block. The leaders have whispered, “Why would you want to leave?”. I’ll tell you why we want to leave, why we must leave, why you must leave.

Happiness, happiness. I ponder this word. This meaning. Because, what does happiness truly mean now? To my great, great, great Grandma it meant, having good moments with people. Happiness now doesn’t exist in this world. We are told by this “leader” that we are to trust in them, to follow them, to believe in them and their thoughts. But really, all they do, is lie. And no one, ever, stops to think about what they are really saying. To find the clues into what is being fed to them. But no one ever does; they are being brain washed.

“I, as your leader, promise to tell you the truth.” But she’s not telling you the truth, she’s being deceiving you! “Because that is my role. Hope. We hope that you stay safe. We hope that you follow the rules, because remember what happens when you don’t follow them.” You are let go. Her team slaughters you in a room so icy, dark, and horrifying that you aren’t laid to rest. “We hope that you trust us,” No one should believe the little snakes. Because when you do, they are digging their fangs into you more and are able to kill you slower and more painfully. “Have a good evening numbers.”

I heard voices. I heard them. I heard them coming. Coming for me. My throat was dry. My limbs were sore. My clothes were drenched in cold, crimson blood of the people I used to know. She was here. Watching me. Following me. “Come out 105. I know where you’re hiding.” She called in a dark and demonic tone. When I heard her echoing voice calling for me, I could feel my throat starting to tighten as if an invisible hand was clenching it. My body so sore, I awkwardly fell to the floor in a mangled form. As I took a breath I felt the coolness of the hard floor under me. As I looked up at the ceiling trying to imagine the stars to take my mind off the pain. I thought about what my brother used to say to me, “Sleeping. Sleeping is a funny thing. But I’m not scared of it, because I imagine it to be like letting go of that edge.”

So I did.

I let go.