The Prize of Profession

I sit there, at the cluttered desk, and drop my head into my hands. I realize without a shadow of a doubt that I am blocked. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew that I had been for a while. Sighing, I crumple up the current page of notes I'd been working on and throw it at the already overflowing trash basket. It bounces off and lands on the floor alongside the other fallen wads of white paper.

Just another piece of trash that won't amount to anything. No use even thinking about submitting this to the Contest.

The Contest was tough. Only a select few made it each year. You essentially staked everything you had at the chance of winning. It was brutal, but when you had very little to lose, it was worth the risk. Many people who had won the Contest for their Profession moved up the social ladder. The cash prize was enough to let you move straight to the top.

I looked towards the Submissions Form taped in one small space on our wall.

****************************************

I understand the rules.

I'll enter this Contest, and if I win will be rewarded with a hefty cash prize.

However, if I lose, I will forfeit my Profession.

And I acknowledge that should I lose my Profession, I will lose everything else along with it, including but not limited to: Property, Finances, Animals, and all other Possessions.

I will be allowed to keep the clothes I am currently wearing, and nothing else.

How I survive thereafter is of no concern of Yours and You will accept no liability or responsibility.

I understand that this is a binding contract that cannot be disputed in any way, shape or form.

****************************************

I was supposed to be good at this, I mean, I'd been writing since I had learned how to hold a pen. I loved writing. I would write every single day and then some. It came easily to me, naturally, like breathing.

And so when the time came, my Profession was chosen for me.

I couldn't have been happier that this was all that I was allowed to do for the rest of my life. It was a dream come true. I set a goal that I would write ten thousand stories in the next ten years.

I was a Writer. It was in my blood, in the very core of my being. I was born to write. And I did. I wrote thousands upon thousands of stories. I wrote books. I wrote articles. I wrote songs and recipes and poems. I wrote everything.

I never thought there would come a time where I just wouldn't be able to do it anymore. And not for a lack of imagination or a crack in ingenuity, but for the simple fact that I was... blocked. That I was simply tired of writing everything down.

Perhaps if Cam were here right now I'd be able to get flowing. He's been gone for months and I haven't had any correspondence from him.

"I give up!" I shout, picking up my Writing Screen and throwing it against the wall of my tiny room. It makes a horrible crack as it collides with brick and falls to the floor broken.

Tears begin to prick at the corners of my eyes, and I try to blink them back but they inevitably escape and roll down my cheeks. I bring my legs up under my chin and wrap my arms around them, trying to comfort myself. The sobs come uncontrollably, my chest is heaving up and down. I can't do this, I can't do this, I'm going to have a panic attack, I can feel the familiar feeling coming as I squeeze my eyes tight and rock back and forth.

And then an arm snakes around my shoulders.

I look up, eyes blurry, and see my absolute best friend looking down at me.

He's wearing his work uniform, and his expression is soft, like he's talking to a child or a frightened animal. There's an ugly bruise on his left cheek and his lip is split open, bleeding. His usually neat hair is a mess and he looks gaunt.

"Cam, you're here! What happened to you?" I half shout half sob at him. I take my sleeve and wipe it across my face as he kneels down to hug me fully. I throw my arms tightly around his neck while my breathing goes back to normal. I didn't hear him come into the room, but I am so happy to see him that I don't care.

"Hey, sis." He murmurs something else, but my ears are ringing and I can't hear what he's saying. He pats my back gently while I cry into his neck.

"It's so hard, every time you leave. You're gone for weeks at a time, and all I can do is hope you come back safely. And now look at you! It looks like you've been to war." I sniffle, looking him up and down.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I've been let go from Security." Cameron says softly.

I pull back from him, I notice the sadness in his eyes as he says it. "What do you mean you've been let go?"

"There was an incident. I was entered into this small competition by The Company. It was just a simple combat match that I was sure to win, and the prize money would have really helped us out, you know? You wouldn't have had to worry about pushing out any more stories if you didn't want to..." His voice trails off.

I stare at my brother in silence waiting for him to continue. As long as it wasn't the Yearly Contest that you stake everything on.

"Well, I obviously lost the match," he chuckles humorlessly, "And then The Company told me I'm done. I didn't realize those were the stakes, Cami. I'm sorry." His eyes are twin, green pools of anguish.

I know how much Cameron loves his Profession. He was always good at protecting people, especially me. He was my big brother by just two minutes, but he took his role very seriously.

I shake my head. I don't understand how The Company can just let him go after all the years that he's spent working for them. And it's so difficult finding new Work in these times. The Company you join from the start is usually who you end up staying with, unless like me, you work for a bunch of smaller Companies.

Cameron smiles half-heartedly with his split lip and extends his hand to help me get to my feet.

There's a yellow "C" tattooed onto his wrist.

The tattoo that they give you when you enter the Contest. I look from his wrist up to his face and he follows my gaze, a guilty expression taking over his face.

"You lied to me." I look at him, staring him down.

Cameron looks at me silently.

"It wasn't a small competition you entered, it was the Contest!"

He still just looks at me, not saying anything.

"Cameron, goddammit just tell me what happened!" I grab at his Security jacket, shaking him.

There's something that catches my eye as his jacket moves. I open it further. There's a dark stain on the front of his green undershirt. He looks away from me, eyes shining. I yank up the shirt, and stumbled backwards in shock, as I see multiple stab wounds littered across his stomach. There is so much blood, his skin hanging in places, grotesque and mutilated.

I can't contain myself and I fall to my knees, puking all over the floor. I can't move. I collapse just there, not caring that I am covered in spew.

"Cami," his voice is a whisper.

I can't meet his eyes, "You're..." I look at the floor.

"Yes." I can hardly hear him from the ringing in my ears.

"You're dead... You've been dead these past two months, haven't you?" I don't recognize my own voice.

"Cami, it's been years since I died, but I'll be here as long as you need me. I don't know how, but I'm here because of you. I'm tethered to you."

"How? Who did this to you? How can I see you then?" I ignore his previous words, and ask my questions robotically.

"You already know... We go over this every time. We were on our last pennies. I had gotten fired from The Company and you couldn't write. I took the risk of entering the Contest. After I won, I was on my way back home to you and I got jumped by three people. All I remember is pain as they stabbed me and stole the prize money."

I still couldn't look at my brother as he explained how he had been murdered, but his words stirred something in me. "Every time? What are you talking about?" I finally meet his eyes, silently urging him to go on.

"You have blocked my death from your mind. You go through periods where you convince yourself I'm still here, alive. Inevitably, you find out the truth and thus this familiar scene over and over again. I try to play along because I can't stand to see you like this. But Cam, I have been dead for four years."

What is he saying? He is a ghost? Or maybe he is saying he isn't even here, and I have just lost my mind from the grief of losing the other half of my soul. Maybe I'm dead too and I don't know it. But if that's true, how could I be in so much pain right now? Surely death comes with some sort of peace. How could I have gone all these years thinking he was here, when he wasn't? I don't know what's real anymore, and I feel that familiar panic rising up in my throat. I clutch at the floor, and my fingers wrap around something cold and hard. I scream and hurl it in Cameron's direction. My broken Screen goes flying through the air, through him, and he vanishes as it breaks into smaller pieces.

He doesn't reappear.

"Cameron!" I call out into nothingness.

I stand up, legs shaking, "Cam, please come back. I'm begging you."

There is only the sound of my heavy breathing and broken sobs.

I hunch over as the floodgates open and it feels like I am drowning in my tears. My brother is dead. He has been dead for years and I haven't realized it

He doesn't return. He's gone.

I don't know how long I sat there, grieving for my twin. It could have been hours or days. At one point I pass out from sheer exhaustion.

I think about how the people who took him from me haven't been prosecuted. How they stole my brother's winnings and his life. I think about how, if I have to, I will bring them to justice myself. This will be my goal.

My brother won the Contest but he still ended up losing.

I hear Cameron's voice, lifting me from my thoughts.

"Cami," he says gently, "Are you okay?"

I nod my head, eyes still closed, as I feel his hand rub my head lightly. He should know that I'd always be okay as long as he was here with me.

And it will be different this time. I remember now. I remember that my brother is gone, that he is gone and he isn't coming back.

I remember because I wrote this story.