The walls were high. They were supposedly meant to keep everything out, but it seemed, more often than not, that they were keeping the citizens in. At least, that’s the way I saw it. Adults always told me that I was just a child, too young to understand the full meaning and reason for the wall. The wall kept the bad things out, they said; the wall is good, they said. Well what was the vast military for if not for protection? Why were we funneling hundreds of millions of dollars into this one entity if they were not the primary defensive force in our small world?

            The voice on the radio continued to droll on, making the propaganda and lies it spewed seem even more inviting than say, opening up a box full of pizza and savoring the feeling of knowing that you don’t have to share it with anybody. That feeling made my stomach turn; especially now, as I began to scale the wall.

            The wall was only stone, thick enough to ‘keep everything out’; easier to climb. Good thing they tried to keep us in shape, you know, in order to allow us to protect ourselves, yet effectively making it significantly easier for street thugs to rob, rape, and kill. I dropped down, tucking and rolling to a stop, just outside the ‘protection’ provided by the government. The outside was dark. The dreariness and fog loomed over the trees and creatures. Some small and scaly, others big, terrifying and covered in slime dripping off their massive gums and tongues. Discolored eyes and yellowed teeth really sold the ensemble.

            A massive roar, a brave individual too scared out of their skin to even think to scream; this was the perfect situation for a pitiless murder. Then it happened, I was suddenly grabbed from behind, a sharp object pressed to my throat.

            This didn’t make any sense, if there were only monstrous creatures and barren trees, how could something have grabbed me and pushed a sharp object to my throat. “What are you doing here?” A throaty whisper croaked in my ear.

            “Liberating myself from the confines of the patriarchy,” I replied, struggling to get enough breath to barely muster a whisper. The object was ripped from my throat as I was physically whipped around, forced to face my captor.

            “Then it’s time, let’s go, Hannah will want to meet you.” The owner of the voice was a boy around my age. He was rough and tumble; he looked as if he had grown up outside of the civilization. “What’s your name, soldier?”

            “Charlie.” Short, sweet, and simple, easy to remember when I inevitably slip into the forest community completely. I rubbed the identification tattoo on the back of my neck, maybe this time it would work, after the first couple resets I had almost completely lost faith.

            The pre-programmed twists had just become too predictable in this life.

Samantha Salzler