Dystopia Chapter 24: No One Can See Me

Days passed — praying, a word rarely heard anymore — while the committee seemed to have forgotten us. We ate and chatted idly, averting our gazes and sidestepping personal topics, failing to meet the committee’s expectations. The committee, whose members were unknown, became restless. Recently, they reminded us we were expendable, and that we had to perform or flee. Then again, there were few standing in line, wanting to replace us.

Within the Well, children worshiped us, while parents shunned us. An unusual juxtaposition, needed but snubbed.

Diana now joined us regularly, often seen chatting with Frank. Awkward, most steered clear of commitments; they rarely ended well, as I learned. Painfully.

The new assignment arrived, hand-delivered and placed before us with the following directive. “Get it done in the next twenty-four hours, or get out.”

Returning to reality, a life of uncertainty, the next peril was inevitable. We each stared, not wondering what it said, rather who would pick it up. Read it. For now, I could not move; instead, reasoned like a child. If I didn’t make eye contact, just closed my eyes. I would see no one; no one would see me. I’d be invisible. If only.

Addison asked, “Are you going to open it?”

Time passed as members shifted uncomfortably, taking sips of brew while playing with their food.

Finally, Addison leaned forward, picked up the paper, and without a word, tore it into confetti-sized pieces and flipped them into the air. We all watched, startled, speechless. We focused all attention on her, waiting for an explanation.

“What the …?” I said.

“I had parents, once. Perhaps I still do. My dad… my dad, wanting me to be eager to try new experiences and to live life to the fullest. To be free, willing, capable of taking a chance, venturing into the unknown.”

“He guided me, teaching and training me until I could care for myself, to be resolute. To defend myself from depraved characters. He prepared me, and I did not disappoint.”

“You want to hear my family’s sordid story?” she said, “It’s not happening until you earn that right.”

She stood while others pulled back from the table. Her words echoed in my ears.

I slowly stood, wondering about her intentions.

“Draw,” she ordered.

I stood stunned. Carefully, haltingly, I placed my hand on my weapon.

She pulled her gun, aimed, spun and returned to her holster.

“That’s the best you’ve got? Again….” She did so effortlessly.

“Damn, she’s good,” Frank uttered.

“You’re dead again,” she insisted.

“I got it.”

“Doing this was once how I made a living,” she declared. “I had a family, once. Today, around this table, this is family. Pull yourself together. If I walk away from the Well, I’ll be fine, but I’d rather you grow a pair and stop with the whining.”

I stood there, realizing she was right. I had to move forward; she was deadly, that much was clear. Her dad had taught her well; he would have been proud.

I sat back down. We looked at each other, still a bit overwhelmed. Then I had an idea. Not a good idea, but a plan.

“So,” Cord added, “what’s the plan?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

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