A Forgotten Path

by Crystal Amour

Ali is a girl from a place not unknown to us, long in our future. She is afraid of forgetting who she is, in a place that is so much the same, where she can lose herself. She is lonely. But that can all change.

Eyes open. Keep your eyes open. Don't blink. Ever. It could well save your life. These are words drilled into every child's head from the ages of twelve to seventeen. The age when you are still eligible, the age when you can still lose it all if all you do is look the wrong way at the wrong time. The age when you are still subject to the dictating control of those ruling over us, when everything can change if you blink an eye.

So don't blink. That's what they all tell us, those who live past that age. Keep your eyes trained on the path behind you as well as the path before. Don't lose focus, don't hide away; know what is going on, or before the end of the day, you'll not see daylight again. They say those who don't survive aren't hurt. They say they don't scream. They say they don't lose hope, not even until the end, that they don't cry even when the pain of their past lives and the memories of yesterday are too much to bear. They don't blink. If only.

My thoughts. Heavy with the weight of worlds on my soul. My future. We're all the same. We all have the same beginning, the same ending. The same life. We're all copies here. Not one is individual, not one unique. It scares me sometimes, the way we are all perfectly in unison, the way we all know what each one of us is going to do or say. We all know our future, whether it is of the court or a farm worker. It is decided at our birth. It is decided for us. We don't even seem to be alive in these bodies. We live the same way, day in, day out.

My destiny. It's been known to me since I've been alive. I am fourteen. I am fourteen, strong, and courageous. At least, I think I am. I am fourteen, strong, and I do not give up. I am a girl. I am fourteen. I am hopeful that things can still change. Am I hopeful? No, I'm not. Not in this hope deprived world we survive in. If you can call this existence even surviving. I am like those who surround me. I am a wanderer.

I don't blink. I don't trust anyone. I don't trust our lives here. Even by being alive, I deny their rules. Even my name is different then everyone elses' here. I am different, even if it is by the way we think. I am not like everyone else. I do not conform to the way they live and think. My thoughts are my own. They cannot control me, like they so easily do to everyone else.

I am like the others that came before me. They all thought they could change the world. They were wrong. They were changed. They thought no one could control them, their lives, or their thoughts. But yet, they changed their minds. The control changed them. I am Ali. I am not so easily swayed. I am not so easily changed.

I have forgotten what it was like to be free. What it was like before they caged me. Before my spirit could no longer wander. That was before I was born. Before they locked us all away, in this small, small place. These regions no bigger than a spot on a map. This continent, or so they tell us it's called in school, used to be free. It used to have a future, hopes and dreams. But now, all that is left is our hearts. The unbroken ones.

I am Ali. I'm different. They all see it. They pretend they don't, so they can hide me. So they could see me. As I truly am. So they could save me. They don't want me to leave. They don't want me to die. I am fourteen, still eligible. I can still die. There is little hope for me if the control chooses it to be so. I can see the truth. The past and the future. I do not believe what they tell me is true. The victor is the one who chooses what lies in the history books. History is doomed to repeat itself.

I do not stand out in a crowd. I hide in the back. They never let me present or stand in front. They are afraid of me. I wish they weren't. The Keepers of the Peace pretend I don't exist. They are fond of me. I am the mascot of this place, this town. They are fond of the kid who makes them laugh and smile, who picks them strawberries and flowers in the springtime.

I do not know how to protect myself. I am afraid every time I pick up a knife to slice berries or bread. I am afraid of my own power. This is me, and if you are listening, you know this is all true. I am lonely. I could be a killer, and I would not know it. My memories are painful and dark. I have no parents, no siblings, no family that I know of. No friends, except one.

His name is Rydin. He is sixteen. He is different than them, just like I am. Yet different than me as well. He is accepted by all, and they believe he is like them. I pretend he is. It makes me feel less guilty for being around him. I do not want to make him act like them. They are conformed. The same. They do not have a single unique bone in their bodies.

I wonder if they can tell who I am. I wonder if they can see how sad and scared I am inside here. I wonder if I can tell who I am. Tomorrow is the drawing. Tomorrow I find out if I am safe for another few months. Tomorrow I find out if I am willing to live any longer. If they are willing to let me live any longer.

My name is Ali. I am different. But I believe that's okay with me. I know I am afraid of tomorrow. I know I am going to be in pain tomorrow. I know I am afraid of losing everything. I know. I still walk forward. I will still continue being me.

My name is Ali. I am different. I am free.