I feel the sun on my face. I see trees all around me. The scent of wildflowers on a breeze. It's so beautiful.
John Laurens sits silently, tracing over his sketch with the fragments of a broken charcoal bit that had been left in his cell before he arrived. He was currently detailing a forest scene, outlining the delicately crafted shell of an Arakan Turtle. This was therapeutic for him. This distracted him from the cold truth, in that he had been rotting in this prison for 84 days with no present hope of escape. It was as if he himself had directly committed a crime. He would have to seek retaliation for this treatment when he got out. If he got out. For now he would have to unleash his anger and resentment into his artwork.
It's been 97 years since the nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on earth, leaving the planet simmering in radiation. Fortunately, there were survivors. 12 nations had operational space stations at the time of the bombs. There is now only The Arc. One station forged from the many. We're told the earth needs another hundred years to become survivable again. Four more space locked generations and man can go home. Back to the Ground.
The Ground. That's the dream. This is reality.
John was startled out of his thoughts by metal against metal as his cell door was slammed open. In walked two guards in heavily padded suits. John could see syringes poking out of their belts, ready in case he tried to bolt for an exit.
"Prisoner 319, face the wall." The taller guard approaches him, hand poised to grab one of the needles.
Reality sucks.
"What is this?" John stands, looking straight forward as he speaks. These men don't deserve to see him express any emotion. They didn't deserve his eye contact.
"Hold out your right arm." Suddenly, the second guard is right near him, opening an iron box of handcuffs.
"No- No. It's not my time, I don't turn eighteen for another month-" John quickly tried to argue them, prolong the inevitable. He couldn't end up like his father just yet.
"Hold out your arm." Clear. No further discussion
On The Arc, every crime no matter how small is punishable by death. Unless you're under 18.
"Your watch." The first guard reached out, presumably to take the object in question.
"No, it was my father's." John attempted to pull his hand away, but the guard grabbed his arm forcefully.
"Take it off!" John twisted his arm out of his grip and pushed towards the open door.
He bolted through the carelessly open exit, barreling into the hall of cells where other prisoners were being taken away. He watches the bustling scene, panting, when one of the guards stepped out of his cell.
"Prisoner 319-" The man begins to yell, sprinting towards him.
"John, stop!" A new voice appears as a woman pushes past the guards and runs at him.
"Mom? Mom, what's going on?" John wraps his arms around her in an embrace as his mother squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.
"What is this?" John holds her tightly to make sure she isn't taken from him.
"They're killing us all aren't they? They're reducing population to make more time for the rest of you-" John's voice was shaking at the memory of his father being sucked out of the spacecraft, into the abyss and to his death.
"John," His mother interrupted. "You are not being executed. You're being sent to the ground. All one hundred of you." She pulls away.
"What? But it's not safe- No, no we get reviewed at eighteen." John clung to her arm, still unsure if anyone would come snatch her up.
"Rules have changed. This gives you a chance to live." His mother smiled sadly, reaching down and tightening John's ponytail.
"Your instincts will tell you to take care of everybody else first. Just like your father." She looked down and John noticed her grip on his shoulder get tighter.
"But be careful- I can't lose you, too." She pulled him back into a hug, which John graciously accepted.
"I love you so much." Her voice was shaking and John felt tears well in his eyes.
John opened his mouth to return the phrase, when he felt a stabbing in his back and he collapsed onto his mother. She held him as his eyelids began to droop and time slowed down.
"Earth, John. You need to go to Earth,"