So I was mean to be concentrating on my LHNB story when I made the mistake of looking at the photo for this month's short story YA prompt..... and these guys arrived in my head and wanted a story.... From the set up I've built myself I have a horrible feeling that it's going to evolve... which so wasn't the plan! I shall now go back to arguing with my LHNB guys!
anyway, enjoy
Marc paused for a second before pushing open the door to their room,
hoping that it would be empty. A quick
glance round revealed nothing more than plain white walls, two beds with
identical quilts and a single chest of drawers.
No room in The Facility was allowed to be personalised.
With a sigh he shut the door behind him.
He only three hours left and had to move fast if he was going to be
ready to leave. Part of him wished that
Riordan could be there, that they could have a chance to spend at least a
little more time together; but a greater part knew he had to do this
alone. Riordan was already struggling to
cope as their separation loomed ever closer.
He had to make this as easy as he could for the younger boy.
Opening the top draw of the chest he began to remove his scant possessions. Onto his bed he laid two pairs of trousers, a
couple of shirts, a thick sweater and a week’s worth of underwear; aside from
the scruffy jeans and t-shirt that he stood up in these were all of his
clothes. Next the pile of clothes he
placed a small bag of toiletries and worn towel.
Pulling out the battered green canvas bag from the bottom draw he shook
out the very few personal items he possessed; a silver watch with a smashed
glass face which he’d never known to work and five handmade birthday
cards. Staring blankly at the cards he
stumbled back until his knees hit the bed frame and sat heavily on the hard
mattress.
Pushing the watch onto his left wrist he swallowed deeply, fighting the
tears that were threatening to fall. He
had to be strong, he had to get through this.
He had no choice. He knew what
happened when you reached your eighteenth birthday. From one extreme to the other he’d seen
others leave, from those that marched proudly through the arched gate into the
darkness without looking back, to others who had been dragged kicking and
screaming by the Facilitators. The
Facilitators were the only ones to come in and out of The Facility, and they never
talked about what was beyond the walls.
None of those who left at age eighteen ever came back to tell their
story.
The watch he’d had as long as he
could remember, he’d been told it was from his life before The Facility but he
had no recollection of that time. He was
one of the Foundlings. Those who came to
The Facility as babies and infants.
There were always a few of that age that came each year, starting out in
the nursery where they were raised till they reached their fifth year. Marc’s earliest memories were of the nursery,
of warmth and comfort, of the others who grew up with him, the girl with yellow
hair who had the next crib in the long dormitory.
After the nursery there had been a series of shared rooms. Boys and girls living quarters separated to
opposite ends of the huge multi story building.
Every couple of years he would change rooms. Sometimes they would be in
kept in groups, other times he had been alone.
As he grew older and moved up the building more often than not he would
share his room with Incomers; those who came to The Facility at an older age
and had made it through the initiation and settlement phases.
As a Foundling it was part of his responsibility to teaching them the
ways of The Facility, of the rules and expectations. In return he listen to them talk of homes and
families they missed as they settled in; or became resigned to their situation. Some accepted things quickly, some fought,
some became depressed; and some of them never adjusted. Marc shuddered at the memory of listening to
other people’s nightmares, and worse, afterwards, their silence.
Five years ago, Marc reached the top floor of the facility and was given
a room whose windows overlooked the courtyard and the gateway to the Darkness
outside. He was also given Riordan. A thin, tousled haired Incomer five months
younger than himself and fresh out of Initiation.
Riordan was confused, scared and hurt.
He talked of an accident that had taken his family, of relatives who
refused to take him in because he was gay and of finding himself at The
Facility with no recollection of how he got there. The only possessions that had come with him
was a thick sketch book and a set of coloured chalks.
Marc had taken him under his wing; and made a huge mistake. For the first time in his life he had become
attached to another person. When the
nightmares got too much, rather than putting his pillow over his head and
shutting out the noise, he found himself leaving his own bed and crawling under
the duvet on the other bed to hold Riordan close until it was over. Even after
Riordan stopped having nightmares sleep was elusive for both unless curled
around each other in one of the beds.
Marc taught Riordan about what it took to survive in The Facility. In
return Riordan had taught him about a life outside, of the love of a family, of
the love of a friend. Where before there
had just been the rules and routine of The Facility, Riordan gave Marc a
friendship he’d never had before and a reason to occasionally break the rules.
The first birthday card had been for his 14th birthday. A hand drawn view from the window, but
instead of the darkness beyond the high stone walls a rainbow hung bright over
it. Though Marc had nothing to give
Riordan in return, each year another card was silently put on the end of Marc’s
bed during his birthday, the last being this morning. Each a scene from The Facility, but with
something else; something uniquely Riordan; something that showed light and
optimism.
They’d talked about what being eighteen meant, where Riordan had come
from it was a time of celebration, of becoming an adult. In The Facility it was the time of Parting. No one stayed in The Facility past sunset on
their eighteenth birthday.
And now it was Marc’s turn. He had
till dusk. Then they would come for him
and escort him from The Facility, through the gates and into the darkness
beyond.
Catching his breath and wiping his hand over his eyes, Marc returned to
his packing. Stuffing the clothes into
the canvas bag. Removing the watch from
his wrist he paused as he went to add it to the bag. Turning it over in his
hands he scanned the room, before opening the second draw which contained
Riordan’s belongings. Carefully he
unrolled one of the pairs of socks and tucked the watch inside and folding the
socks back up. He returned the socks to
the draw, pushing them to the back where hopefully they wouldn’t be discovered
for a while.
Gently he slid the cards down the side of the bag, keeping them as flat
as he could, and then pulled the drawstring tight. That was it, aside from his coat and boots
his entire life, 18 years of existence were closed into one small bag.
Now he just had to wait.
Lying on his bed staring out the window at the gateway, Marc’s mind was a
million miles away. He didn’t hear the
door quietly open and close, or the sock clad feet approach the bed over the
polished wooden floor. He started
violently as Riordan dropped onto the bed beside him. Lying full length beside him, Riordan curled
his left leg over Marc’s and wriggled closer, until their shoulders bumped.
There was nothing more to say, now was just the time to be, to draw strength
from each other.
Outside the sky grew darker.
Riordan rolled off the bed as soon as the quiet knock on the door
sounded. Pulling Marc to his feet the
two boys embraced.
“Five months,” Riordan whispered. “Wait
for me.”
“I’ll be outside the gateway.” Marc replied as he picked up his bag and
slipped on his coat and boots before moving to the door. It wasn’t an empty promise, if there was any
way he could keep it he would.
The Facilitators escorted him down the corridor towards the lift. As tradition went, the boys of his floor
stood silently at their doors to watch him go.
The journey to the ground floor was swift with no stops on the way down. The main doorway to the court yard was open,
two new Facilitators stood sentry at each side.
Squaring his shoulders and hitching his bag higher Marc took a deep
breath and walked forward into the cool, damp evening air.
Flanked on each side he walked over the gravel Court towards the
gateway. As he approached he heard the
squeal of metal as the bolt was pulled back, then the door opened outwards.
Turning his head once he looked up at The Facility. A light shone in the room he’d just left, in
the window the still figure of the boy he’d just left watched him. Marc raised his hand in a salute and nodded
before turning and walking out boldly into the darkness.
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