Steven Santos - The Culling

Ive been chasing sleep for hours and finally accept the fact that Im never going to catch it. Even if I could afford black-market meds and was willing to risk Coles life, as well as my own, no amount of anti-anxiety drugs will quell the unease poisoning my blood.

Not on the eve of the Recruitment.

My palm presses against the cold windowpane of the box-like tenement we call home, wiping away a swatch of condensation. A spark of orange stains the dark sky, silhouetting the smokestacks from the Industrial Borough, hissing puffs of black death into the stars. That same lethal smoke birthed the cancers that devoured both of my parents dignity before leaving two brothers with only each other.

And before this day is through, maybe not even that.

The floorboards creak. Probably another damn rat. Thats three this week. I grope for the oil lamp on the nightstand, careful not to turn the flame too high, so as not to wake up Cole, asleep on the cot beside mine.

Too late. Hes propped up on his elbows, his big chocolate eyes staring at me through the flickering light. Did you have a scary dream too, Lucky? he asks.

It used to bother me when Cole nicknamed me Lucky, instead of calling me Lucian, until I realized just how aptly it described the way I felt about having him in my life. And its a hell of a lot better than Lucy.

I move to sit beside him, ruffling his hair. What are you doing up, big guy? No school today, remember? Theres never school on this day. Or work for that matter. The Establishment makes sure that everyone participates in all Recruitment Day activities.

Cole reaches out a warm, pink hand and grasps one of my own. I cant sleep, Lucky. The monstersll get me.

Can he sense whats coming?

Leaning in close, I smile. Nothings going to hurt you, Cole. I wont let it.

He lets go of my hand and throws his small arms around my neck, burying his face in my chest. I enfold his trembling body in a tight embrace.

Can you read me the story? he whispers in my ear.

I pull away, staring at him. Ill read it if you promise to go back to sleep.

He lights up. Promise!

I shake my head, rise, and walk over to the small dresser in the corner of the room, sliding it aside. I stoop and pry up one of the floorboards with my fingernails. Reaching into the dark crevice, I ease out a few sheets of blackened paper.

Coles been fascinated with the story ever since I discovered it a few months ago, hidden in the basement archives of the Parish library, just after I started working with old Mr. Croakley. When anyone turns sixteen in the Parish, theyre assigned an apprenticeship until theyre drafted into the standard military-or recruited. Id lucked out. I could have pulled sewer duty.

This particular tale was hidden inside a dusty book, part of a collection that ranged from astronomy to poetry. I must have devoured the entire compilation in a matter of weeks.

I sink into the creaking mattress beside Cole. Now remember. You cant tell anyone about the story. I mean it. It would get us both into trouble and they could take you away from me. You dont want that, do you?

His eyes widen. No, Lucky. I wont never ever tell.

I hate to scare him like this, but its the only way to protect him. The Establishment has very strict guidelines about what it deems appropriate reading in its schools, and fairy tales just dont make the cut. But I think a four-year-old deserves whatever happiness he can squeeze out of this life and Ill be damned if Im not going to give Cole whatever I can.

Picking up the pages, I begin to read. Well, pretend to read actually. Most of the text is illegible, either burned or torn away. But its the drawing that excites Cole.

So Ive made up the tale, using a few of the key phrases that I can decipher. If Cole notices that the words vary with each reading, he never says. Its the ritual that seems to cast its spell-me reading, him listening.

And the drawing.

There once was a beautiful queen that ruled over the land of Usofa, I begin.

For the next fifteen minutes, I go on and on about the benevolent Lady, how she reigns over the City of Sparkling Lights, tweaking this version here and there for dramatic effect. Youd think it was Coles first time hearing this story, based on all his questions: Does the Lady protect the people from the monsters? From illness? Does she give them plenty of food, read to them?

Keep their parents alive?

As I patiently address each and every question, I know

its not answers hes looking for, but something far greater something Im not sure I can really give

Reassurance.

And they lived happily ever after, I finally finish, acting as if Im going to put away the pages.

The picture! The picture!

I smile. All right, buddy. Take it easy! Here it is.

His face is a mixture of awe and joy as he studies the drawing on the page Im holding out to him. Its a regal woman, wearing a crown emitting the suns rays, torch held high in her right hand, a large bound book in the other. Her face seems serene as she stares at the magical city before her, lit up like the constellations.

Shes almost as beautiful as Mommy was, Cole whispers.

I smile. How can he remember that? He was too young when she

An image of our mother floods my brain. The wheezing, gasping for breath, her eyes rolling up into their sockets-No. Not today. Yep. She almost is. I pull the page away. Now you promised youd go back to sleep. I re-tuck him in, before he can protest.

He leans forward and kisses my cheek. I love you, Lucky.

As I stare down at him, he suddenly becomes blurry. I love you, too, Cole.

I plant a kiss on his forehead and snuff out the lamps flame. In a few minutes I can hear the soft sounds of his rhythmic breathing. Hopefully, the dream monsters will be kept at bay, if only for a few hours. Why couldnt it be this simple with the real monsters?

Plopping down on my own bed, I cant get the image of the old sketch out of my mind. A beautiful city watched over by a noble Lady. A place where people were free. Free to express their ideas, live their lives without fear. No wonder Cole likes the story so much. A place like that would be paradise compared to our lives in the Parish.

Surely, it had to be a fairy tale. If such a place ever existed its completely gone now, destroyed by the Ash Wars untold ages ago, replaced by the all-knowing, ever-present monster: the Establishment.

The monster that will decide in just a few hours whether or not Ill be responsible for my little brothers death.

The rusty key wont budge. I have to jiggle it a few times before the tumblers surrender and Im rewarded with an anemic click. It stinks having to trust Coles safety to a corroded piece of metal, but if I dont risk this outing, the thought of what could happen to him terrifies me even more. Hopefully Ill be back before he wakes up and finds me gone. Besides, he wont be totally alone.

Brushing away a few paint flurries that drift from the door onto my sleeve, I creep down the dim corridor, side-stepping mounds of trash, none of which is ever edible. Food, regardless of freshness level or olfactory appeal, is never thrown out. Period.

Something squishes beneath me. The heat of whatever it is soaks through my soles. I scrape the mystery onto the warped floorboards without bothering to look.

Its better not to know.

Finally, Im at the end of the hallway, in front of Mrs. Bledsoes apartment. It used to say No. 15 above the door, but the five had about all it could take years ago, just like Mr. Bledsoe had when their only daughter, Dahlia, was recruited. Now theres only the 1 left, both inside and out.