Lauren DeStefano - Perfect Ruin

You have all heard the warnings about the edge. We have been told its winds are a song that will hypnotize us, and by the time we awaken from that trance, it will be too late.

-Intangible Gods, Daphne Leander, Year Ten

WE LIVE ENCAPSULATED BY THE TRAINS. They go around in a perfect oval at all hours, stopping for thirty-five seconds in each section so the commuters are able to board and depart. Beyond the tracks, after the fence, theres sky. Engineers crafted a scope so that we can see the ground below us. We can see tall buildings and other sorts of trainssome of which disappear underground or rise onto bridges. We can see patches of cities and towns that appear stitched like one of Lexs blankets.

Weve never been able to craft a scope advanced enough to see the peopleit isnt allowed. Weve been banished to the sky. Im told they can see Internment, though. I wonder, what must we look like to them? A giant oval of the earth with rocks and roots clinging to the bottom, I suppose. Ive seen sketches of what Internment looks like as a whole, and its as though a giant hand came down and took a piece right out of the ground, and here we are floating in the sky.

When I was a child, I used to think about the day Internment was ripped from the ground and placed in the sky. I used to wonder if the people were frightened, or if they felt fortunate to be saved. I used to imagine that I was a part of Interments first generation. Id close my eyes and feel the ground under my feet going up and up and up.

Ms. Stockhour, Instructor Newlan says, youre dreaming with your eyes open again. Page forty-six.

I look at the textbook open before me and realize I havent been keeping up with the lesson since page thirty-two.

I dont suppose you would care to add to our discussion. He always paces between the rows of desks as he lectures, and now hes stopped before me.

The festival of stars? I say, but Im only guessing. I have an incurably wandering mind, a fact that has given Instructor Newlan much cheerful cause to torture me. The chorus of chuckles from my classmates confirms Im wrong.

Weve moved on to geography, Pen says from beside me. She glances from me to the instructor, curls bouncing around her cheeks and creating a perfect ambiance for the look of contrition on her face; if Instructor Newlan thinks shes sorry for speaking out of turn, he wont give her a demerit. He likes her; shes the only one left fully conscious after his geography lecturesshed like to work on the maps when shes older. He gives her a wry glance over his glasses, flips my book to the correct page, and goes on.

I do realize that its December first, Instructor Newlan says. I know were all excited for the festival of stars to begin, but let us remember that there is plenty of class work to be done in the meantime.

The festival of stars is a monthlong celebration, and in the excitement and preparations, its common for students and adults alike to daydream. But while the rest of Internment daydreams of normal thingsgifts and requests to the god of the skyI dream of things that are dangerous and could have me arrested or killed. I stare at the edge of my desk and imagine its the end of my little world.

After the class is over, I wait for Basil before I move for the door. He always insists on catching the same shuttle to the train so he can escort me home. He worries. Where does your mind go? he asks me.

She was thinking about the ground again, Pen teases, linking her elbow around mine and squeezing against me. I swear, with all your daydreams about the ground, you could be a novelist.

I will never be disciplined enough to write a novel, not like my brother, Lex, who says Im too much of an optimist to have any artistic prowess.

We walk quickly. Pen is trying to avoid Thomas, her betrothed, and the way she keeps glancing behind us, she isnt even being inconspicuous.

We make it into a shuttle with hardly a second to spare. The shuttles are electric vehicles that are much smaller than train cars and therefore are usually crowded. We stand huddled by the door. Pen deflates with a quiet sigh of relief. Thomas is just leaving the academy as we depart.

Basil grips the overhead handle, and I grab his arm as a jolt knocks me into him. The reason for our betrothals is never explained to us, but I like to think the decision makers knew Basil was going to be taller than me. It can only be an act of good planning, the way my head fits into the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

I keep hold of Pens wrist so she doesnt stumble, but she has no problem keeping her balance. Shes staring out at the clouds full of evening sunlight. They meander alongside Internment, but just when I think theyll hit us, they evade, slipping under or over our little world like were a stone in their waters. Internment is encased by a sphere of wind that prevents the clouds from entering our city, though they seem close enough to touch.

The shuttle stops, pushing strangers into us. Were lucky to be so close to the door, because everyone rushes to get out at once, hoping to catch the train so they wont have to wait for the next one.

The train is not very crowded when we board, aside from the seats at the head of the car that are occupied by a group of pregnant women, chattering with one another about the details of their birthing class. Judging by their stomachs, Id guess theyre carrying a round of January births.

The higher grades let out an hour after most work shifts end, and the younger children have another hour yet of classes. We find an empty row of seats wide enough to fit the three of us, and I deliberately usher Basil in first so that Pen wont be the one to sit by the window. She has spent enough time staring at the clouds.

Theyve already started decorating for the festival of stars, I say, nodding to the silver-colored branches that frame the ceiling of our train car. From the branches hang little metal toys and trinkets that are meant to symbolize human desiretoy trains and books and miniature couples holding hands, the brass silhouette of true love.

The festival of stars overtakes the city in the month of December. Its a time for giving gifts to our loved ones to show our gratitude for having them in our lives. And on the very last day, were allowed to make one big request of the god in the sky. Each request is written on a special piece of parchment that we arent meant to share with anyone else. The entire city gathers together, and our pieces of parchment are set on fire and cast into the sky, like hundreds of burning stars. We cling to one another and watch as our greatest desires are carried off and eventually extinguished, to be answered or denied.

Theyve asked me to help with the murals this year, Pen says, raising her chin in a modest show of pride. Apparently one of the instructors recommended me to the festival committee.