Beyond the Walls

Links to my other books: https://editor.reedsy.com/s/wsaTP7u (Magic After Midnight)

https://editor.reedsy.com/s/ON2zB3v (Crimson)

Since I was young, I've always felt like I've had hundreds of eyes on me.

Watching me.

As I've aged, it's only occurred to me that I do.

The government watches me. My family. They make sure neither I nor my mother do as much as glance outside. If we do, we could be put to death.

The curtains are drawn closed, and the wooden door has been perfectly put into place so no cracks of sunlight shine through.

The government hates women. Men are allowed to go outside, hunt, go to school, and control finances. Women stay home and clean, never speaking a word. We could become tongueless for something such as that.

The government tells us that we could be blinded by the wrath of God if we step outside, and everyone believes this because the government said so.

But what sense does it make?

None, in my taste. The government believes only men should be able to live freely, and any idiot could figure that out.

But nobody tries to. I can't help it that I'm smarter than anyone else. Self-taught. There are photos of food around our house. My father also brings home carvings of plants and animals for himself but ends up leaving them lying around the house. I've always risked sneaking looks at the names etched into the carvings, but looked back almost as quickly, remembering every animal and teaching myself.

If the government knew I was as smart as I am, they'd put me to death. But they don't. I mostly keep to myself, helping my mother around the house, although I don't really have a choice. I know the government watches me, just like they do in every division.

I live in Division D, the poorest and least free.

We women can't touch anything the men bring home. If they bring home a loaf of bread or a shot animal, we must cook it or wait until the man eats what he can, then eat the stale leftovers.

We can't have tattoos or piercings, and all women wear the same house shoes and an ugly blouse.

My father comes home late. He opens the door, and my mother and I turn away, careful not to see any light from outside. My father dropped a skinned squirrel in a pot my mother had started stew in, and I continued to sweep the floor, trying not to let my eyes wander too far.

I could feel their eyes on me.

The clock buzzes, signaling it's time to go to bed. The clock is controlled by the government, telling us when to get up and start work, and end work for the day. But of course, they can change it at any time.

My bedroom is a dull grey with a single bed, and, of course, no windows. There are patches in the cracks of the walls to block out sunlight and lazily placed carpet squares on the ground.

I have seen light once--In a dream. Of course, there's no monitor for that. But if I spoke about that dream, there surely would be.

I hear the buzzer sound from the kitchen. I don't even bother to let my mother rouse me, so I make my way downstairs. As much as I would like to stomp down the steps, I know it could result in punishment.

My mother and I have never spoken to each other, either. She never even named me; it's too much of a risk of affection. I myself have never said more than 10 words in all sixteen years of my life, not to my father or mother, but in a whisper to the walls of my room.

My mother is nowhere in sight, leaving me to make food for my father before he goes hunting. I do my best to avoid cameras-these little devices so tiny you can barely see them-that the government watches us from.

When I finish the food, I wake my father, setting a bowl on the table for him. Just as I expected, he ignores the bowl completely and heads out the door. I sigh out my nose so nobody hears.

Just as I put the food in a cabinet, my mother comes from her room, tears running down her face. She got another warning. A few more and she'd be dead.

The buzzer finally goes off. It seemed like this had been a shorter day than most others.

But instead of going up to my room, I pull down the ladder to the barely-used attic. I don't know what propels me to do this, but I feel drawn to climbing up the ladder and exploring...almost like my gut knows there's something up there.

I climb up the wooden steps, one falling beneath my foot. I finally make it up to the dusty space where it is so rarely used that there is one camera up there, completely consumed by dust. I sit on a box until something catches my eye.

It's a bulging square in the wall. I crawl over to it and wipe away the dust, revealing two small curtains. When I pull them away, there is a window covered by dust and grime.

I've considered escaping a few times, and now, here's my chance. I think about it, all of the opportunities...Life outside the house.

No.

I shake my head and climb down from the attic.

When the buzzer goes off in the morning, I get out of bed and follow my normal routine, my mother still coming out of her room with another warning. I look away and turn off the light in my father's room to save him money. Here, the water and electricity are greater than in Divisions A, B, and C. Perhaps the government will find women resourceful, but will they ever? Only someone such as I could have figured out that women could help improve the divisions, but of course, this is not the government's ideal country.

After yet another fast-paced day of work, I go back up to the attic when the buzzer sounds. While I should be resting, I find myself staring at the dusty window, debating lots of things in my mind about whether or not I should make an escape tonight. This is the only unsupervised window in the house...how lucky would I be to escape tonight? But what would happen outside? Where would I go?

While my brain tells me no, my heart and soul tell me yes. I once heard that people in Division A tell their children to follow their hearts.

So I want to do the same. My heart keeps telling me to go, and soon my mind picks up, too. Now, nothing is stopping me, the opportunity is right there...

I breathe the first word I've spoken in five years and remove the cover of the window, the light of the outdoors shining through the glass.

"Yes."