The Lost

You don’t belong here.

The sentence still rang in my mind like the sound of a penny thrown into an empty washing machine.

I still thought of the way She had tossed me aside like I was nothing. The way Her words—sharp, cold knives that they were— cut right through me.

How quickly I believed Her. How naturally I accepted Her words as truth— that I was unimportant. I wasn’t wanted here.

That was two days ago. For two days I had been gazing out of the bars that lined the four walls of the jail cell. It was anyone’s worst nightmare.

I’d heard stories about this place, mere whisperings that bordered on rumor. It was where all those who strayed too far from home ended up. The Lost, we called them. It was said that they were sent here, the merciless prison into which She disdainfully shoved all who didn’t belong, and just as quickly forgot about them. Out of sight and well out of mind. The Lost were never seen again. Eventually they were forgotten by those back home, their memories forfeited to space and time. One is only truly gone when there is no one left to remember them.

From the comfort of sweet safety and security, a notion now quite distant from me, this place had seemed nothing more than legend. I never fathomed that it existed, let alone that I would ever end up here. But I thought back to the birthday I shared with my sister, when we had deliberately chosen the lives of renegades, and conceded the thought. This was the horrible price of that choice, I suppose.

Since I can remember, I’d always done as I was told, living in pious obedience to Her, although it was Him for whom I technically worked. I never ventured too far from my twin, like I was instructed. I listened intently to the stories we were told when we were young, legends meant to instill in us an icy, paralyzing fear of the unknown.

Those myths described our twins as something of a lifeline. They explained how each of us entered the rosy dawn of existence with a sibling, and staying near them was very much the only way we would make it through this life. To be permanently separated from one’s twin was to effectively cut oneself off from the world, and to end one’s existence entirely. I had scoffed then, and my sister snorted beside me. We humored the stories but never truly believed them.

Our whole lives, spent by each other’s sides? We knew it was Tradition, the immutable custom of our family, but my sister and I, in the dark that night, conspired to be the first ones to defy the ancient practice. What was the worst that would truly happen if we attempted to separate, to live out our existence away from one another? It was a thrilling thought. We decided that we would be the first to do it and live to tell the tale. If we managed it, they would speak about us like heroes ages from now. Everyone from miles around would know of us, we giggled that night, snuggled together beneath warm fabric and intoxicated with ambition. The sun rose, and we existed for another day, and another.

Two days ago, it was our birthday. My sister and I decided that morning that it was time. That day, we would execute our attempt. 

We went about our business as normal, not mentioning anything of our plans, for others would surely try to convince us not to go through with it. We faithfully attended our jobs, working as a team alongside one another, as we’d done our whole lives, serving Him without a complaint. We liked Him. He was different than Her. He cared for us, I could tell. He didn’t treat us without gratification like She did.

The monotony of daily life went like that. Work and home, work and home. Seeing Him mostly, and on regrettable occasion, Her. No adventure, no freedom, no risk.

When the workday quickly came to an end and we finished our jobs, He dismissed us. And, like He did every day, He escorted us to the place where we spent our nights in the embrace of family, in the safety of Tradition.

Except that day, we did not complete the journey. When His calloused hands released us from our work, he turned away, entrusting us to complete the short distance home. We took the chance. My sister, quicker than lightning, tumbled to the left and I threw myself to the right. He hadn’t seen. He didn’t know we had escaped. It was exhilarating. I soared through the air for a few seconds before landing on cold linoleum. I’d never felt linoleum before. It was smooth and exquisitely flawless, much how I imagined glistening marble might feel.

I lay in that spot the entire night, alone, breathless with wonder at my first moments without my sister at my side. I didn’t know what became of her, or how she’d ended up, but I knew that wherever she was, she was feeling the same way.

Blissful relief flooded through me. And then came the satisfaction of knowing what most would never discover: the stories were just stories after all. We had separated, and we’d survived it.

How naive I was.

The next morning when the sun rose, She strode into the room, and, shooting a harsh look at me lying there, made a sound of disgust in the back of Her throat. In that moment I truly missed having my sister with me. I couldn’t move, paralyzed by the bleak terror that seemed to fill the empty hole inside me. I lay limp as She scooped me up.

Disgusting thing, She muttered. He just leaves you anywhere, doesn’t He?

No, He has nothing to do with this, I wanted to scream. He is wonderful to us. Don’t blame Him for our rash actions.

But I was quiet, like always.

She wondered aloud where my sister was and was met with more silence.

Well, She sighed, looking down Her nose at me. You don’t belong here.

I panicked. She hadn’t recognized me, despite the fact that She’d passed Her eyes over my sister and me a million times before. And then, Her hands as cold as silver steel, She tossed me into the prison where all the Lost are sent.

As I was flung into the horrid place, I thought that perhaps I spoke too soon. Maybe there was an air of truth to the stories. My sister had been my lifeline. Now, without my twin, I was unrecognizable to Her. I was reduced to nothing in Her eyes— just some scrap Lost to the wind. We had tried to be free, and here I was, paying for it.

You don’t belong here.

I spent excruciating minutes repeating Her words to myself that first night. Was it true? Was I as worthless as She said? I tried to forget them, but those cruel words of Hers stung so much I couldn’t sleep. And then I realized that they hurt so much because they were true.

Alone, I was...expendable. Useless. I would never belong anywhere in this world, not without my sister.

Sitting in my cell, I tried to make the best of things. I had indeed tasted freedom— true, unadulterated freedom—for the first, and likely the last, time. Not many back home could say the same.

I huddled in the dark, taking comfort in the patchwork family that the Lost had created among themselves. They were a cheerful, warm, mismatched bunch, despite everything they’d each been through. Some had been here longer than others. They’d seen many things through the bars of the cell. When I pressed the Lost for stories to pass the time, some were too gruesome for them to tell in anything but hushed tones.

Bleach, one whispered. I had a friend who—

It was too horrible for them to continue.

What else have you seen? I asked.

Rips, another muttered. And tears. Murmurs of agreement from all around. So terrible they were never the same again.

Never the same again, the others echoed. Terrible, terrible.

I gazed out through the bars of the prison, thinking of my sister. Wherever she was, I hoped she was alright. I hoped she hadn’t run into Her. My twin hadn’t been sent here, and that was a good sign, at least.

If I can’t live freely, sister, perhaps at least you can, I thought.

The minutes melded together into one long night, and I spent many ambiguous hours biding my time.

Then today, I saw Him through the bars, coming into the room. I hardly believed it. I tried to get His attention, though I knew the chances that He would comprehend it were slim.

Please! I’m here!

But He seemed to understand because He turned toward the cells of my prison, our crowded jail filled to the brim with the Lost.

As He drew closer, shock rippled through me, followed by relief. He had my sister. And she was alright! My twin was there with Him, at least, and she hadn’t been found by Her.

He stepped up to the prison and escorted me out, beaming. I’d never been so relieved.

Are you alright? I tried to ask my sister, silently.

I’m fine, she seemed to say.

Then He yelled. Mom!

I was startled by his deafening voice.

Moments later, She came into the room, heels click-clacking on the linoleum.

What is it? She demanded. 

I found it! He said excitedly, waving me about. He’d been looking for…me? Truly, perhaps I had underestimated how much He cared for us.

I told you it would be there, She said to Him, gesturing to the prison. From afar, I could see its rectangular structure now. No ceiling, open to the sky. Beige, discolored bars made of cheap plastic along all four walls. The souls of the Lost peeked at me through the holes. Instantly my heart ached at the thought of leaving behind the family I’d made in that grim place, but they seemed happy for me that I’d gotten out. We all knew it was rare for anyone to leave the prison once they entered it.

She clucked Her tongue, chastising Her son gently.

She pointed to the prison again. You should have looked there first. That old laundry basket’s where I put them all, She said. All the socks we can’t find the pairs for.