Going Home

Today was the day. I hate today. Today was the day that the government would randomly select one 18 year old to get shipped off in a rocket to the moon. No one knew why and no one knew how the participants were chosen. No one even knew which moon they were going to, if they were really being sent to a moon. As everyone gathered in the city hall to watch the broadcast, with me and the other of-age candidates being herded like cattle for slaughter at the font of the room, I’m reminded of all the dystopian novels I read where children are sent off to the slaughter. I try to calm my fluttering heart and keep my composure, especially in front of the crowd and cameras. Afterall, there was no way my name would be called.

I’m the weird one when it comes to the people I know. As the only one not ecstatic about these moon missions, I have never fit in. I have no idea why these people think it would be an honor to be chosen, to be forced to leave everything behind. Not that I have anything or anyone to leave behind, having left home and never looked back after my father turned his drunken rage on me. Not that I’m looking for any pity. I found a small place I could afford on my part time salary, and have been keeping up with my classes in high school. I’m even slotted for the top university. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for anything more, which is why this year’s selection terrifies me. One single decision could rip away everything I know. Except they won’t pick me. They can’t. I have done everything to stay off the radar – not performing as a top student, not getting a credit card, not buying a car. Anything that would ping me to the government I have avoided like the plague.

As I stand there, I see the rest of my classmates talking, some excitedly and some nervously, trying to guess who could possibly be the one person selected for the moon mission. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention towards the screen as the national anthem begins to play, signaling the start of the ceremony. Loud speakers crackle on as this year’s stiff dressed in complete coat and tie steps into the camera view, his voice droning,

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering for this year’s selection for the next candidate to enter the prestigious ranks of those who have gone before. As you know, the candidate selected will enter a rocket by midnight tonight, and travel to the moon to join the ongoing mission for the betterment of mankind. This is a great honor, and one of you lucky young adults shall go down in history for your great contribution to our society.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes again as the official mechanically repeats the same speech as every year, detailing how great and wonderful this nonsense is. I finally snap back when I hear him announce the selected name.

“Allison Dearly.”

That’s my name. I stand there blinking, trying to figure out who this other Allison is, but everyone starts looking a me. That can’t be good. My chest feels tight, and my breath speeds up. I can’t think straight as the world starts spinning. I see the guards start walking towards. I know they are there to take me to the rocket, but I can’t go. I will not go. Without another moment to breath, I take off running at full speed.

I keep running and running. I know I can’t stop. If I stop, they will catch me, and if they catch me, they will put me in that rocket. Only one thought is racing through my head, pulsating with the same speed as my pounding heart. They said my name. I keep going until I finally reach my destination – an abandoned treehouse. I discovered this on one of my morning runs and always kept it in the back of my mind as the perfect hiding place. No one came to these woods, and even if they did, most would be intrigued by the decaying treehouse nestled in the branches. No one would think to look past that. If they did, they might find the trap door, leading into the tree itself, which had been hollowed out. They would find a rickety rope ladder leader to an underground bunker. My bunker, since I had claimed it, and had seen no signs of anyone else even knowing about it, let alone going there. With one last look around to make sure I wasn’t followed, I entered the bunker.

Once inside, I let out a sigh of relief. I just had to survive the night. In one of my engineering courses, I learned that the rockets were precisely timed, and it would have to leave tonight or not at all for another year. I lay down on the bed, content that no one would find me. My heart was still pounding, but my muscles felt like jelly as I sunk further into the mattress. Before I knew it, I had closed my eyes and fallen asleep.

I woke up to the sound of blaring sirens. I tried to get up, but found myself strapped to a chair. They must have found me, but how? In front of me, a screen started to play.

“Hello, Allison. I know you must be confused and scared. We thank you for your participation in this mission. However, there is something you must know – you are not being sent to the moon. You are in fact being sent to Earth. The real Earth. The Earth you know is in fact a pseudo-colony on the planet Mars. You have been part of an experiment testing the feasibility of sustaining life on another planet. Each year, we send one healthy specimen back to Earth for evaluation. After that evaluation, you will live out your days on real Earth amongst others from Mars for continued observation. Thank you again for your sacrifice. Good luck.”

The screen clicked off, and my mind went blank, unable to process what I had just heard. The next thing I felt was the crushing pressure of the rocket blasting off. No turning back now.