Cleansing

Every Sunday, we watch someone die.

This Sunday, as usual, every seat in the arena is filled because all residents of the Community are required to attend the Cleansing. I fidget in my hard plastic seat, muscles tense, eyes on the pedestal at the center of the arena where the Governor should appear any moment. 

Next to me, my best friend Alena slouches in her seat, eyes flickering across the thousands of people in their seats. As if death doesn’t hang over us like a veil, suffocating every soul. It’s definitely hanging over my dad, who looks like he might pass out a few rows down. Be strong, Dad. 

Alena fans herself with a hand to keep away the stifling heat and elbows me. “Wanna bet what Cleansing method they’ll choose today?”

“Let’s not bet on something so morbid,” I say, turning to her. 

Her leaf-green eyes sparkle mischievously. “It’ll be fun, c’mon, Jase. I bet ten credits it’s gonna be a shotgun.”

I scoff, “That’s too quick. You know they like to draw it out, spill as much blood as possible.”

“Fine. Axe then.” She realizes her mistake with a gasp, but it’s too late. The image of an axe bearing down on my mother is already running through my mind. 

“Jase, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine.” I wipe away the moisture in my eyes, trying to wrest my emotions and mind under control.

Before Alena can say anything else, the Governor rises from the elevator inside the pedestal. He holds up a hand to shield himself from the oppressive late afternoon sun and booms, “Greetings, and welcome to the 21,403rd Cleansing!” 21,403 Cleansings. That’s 21,403 Victors. 21,403 murderers in our ranks. “Let’s begin!”

The Governor presses a button somewhere, and on the arena’s four screens, a program begins cycling through all the residents of the Community who haven’t fought yet, age sixteen and up. Both the Cleansing method and the two chosen fighters are supposed to be selected randomly. But are they really? 

Names are still cycling across the screen. They make this long on purpose, to make us fear. And it’s working. My heart begins to pound. There are over a million residents in the Community. But it could be my name on that screen any second, or Dad’s. Hell, it could be Alena’s name. 

As if thinking the same thing, she clutches my hand. I squeeze back. We will survive today. 

Finally, the barrage of names comes to a standstill and the screens beep with two names: Jeralia Robick and Ivis Grym. Alena and I both suck in a breath–Jeralia is our classmate. Then we sigh in relief, along with almost everyone in the arena. It wasn’t us today. But it could be next week. 

The Governor squints at the screens and hollers, “Jeralia Robick, report to gate one! Ivis Grym, report to gate two!” The loudspeakers warp his words so much they sound like an eagle’s screech. 

The arena is too large and crowded for me to make out faces, but I see two people on the other side stand up and pick their way down to the field gates. Once Jeralia and Ivis are standing at their respective gates, the Governor opens a sheet of paper and announces, “Your Cleansing method is drowning. Good luck, and let the Cleansing begin!”

Drowning? That’s new. Alena and I look at each other, bewildered. I guess neither of us will lose money today. 

A pool of water rises near the center of the field, pushed upward by mechanisms underground. A gong sounds, and the gates open. Jeralia and Ivis charge into the field and jump into the pool, both determined to drown the other and save themself. 

While Jeralia is tall and buff, Ivis is a stout old man. Jeralia seems to have an inherent advantage, but when it comes to the Cleansing, all bets are off. The desperation to live always wins. 

Jeralia and Ivis circle each other in the waist-deep water. Jeralia lunges at Ivis, grabs his neck, and pushes him into the water. Everyone leans forward, and the clink of plastic credits joins the splashing water. My lip curls in disgust; I can’t believe people are betting on this. 

 Ivis thrashes, kicking up waves of water. But Jeralia is stronger, both physically and in her desperation to live. Every time Ivis kicks, she slams him into the water harder, and more air whooshes out of his lungs. 

Ivis goes limp within minutes, eyes open in panic, face blue. Jeralia lets go of his body and covers her face with her hands, shaking. What an inspiring start to the week.

A wail goes up from the far side of the arena. Ivis’s family, probably. No cheers for Jeralia. No one cheers for killers.

The governor proclaims Jeralia the Victor, and Ivis the Cleansed. Still shaking, Jeralia leaves the field. The rest of us sit, waiting for dismissal. 

In the heat of the Cleansing, I hadn’t noticed how tightly Alena and I were holding hands. Our fingers are now bone white from decreased circulation. Alena’s eyes fill with tears as she stares at Ivis, floating in the water. I pull her into a hug, running a hand over her back to soothe both her trembling and my own. 

The gong sounds again, signaling dismissal, and everyone jumps up to flood the exits, eager to get away from Ivis’s body. One of us will be him next week, and we don’t need any reminders.

*****

The next day at school, no one looks at Jeralia. No one sits with her at lunch. When she raises her hand in biology class to answer a question, Instructor Konnor ignores her and calls on someone else instead. I can’t help but notice how she just dies inside, slowly lowering her hand and staring at her plexiglass desk until the end of class. 

After school, Alena and I head to the Community park, our favorite place to hang out. The park is situated at a higher elevation than the rest of the Community, giving us a full view of the shining buildings below, along with the swishing trees of the forest surrounding the city. At the border of the Community, the crisscrossing metal beams of the arena glint harshly, an ever-present reminder of death. 

Lying stomach-down in the manicured grass, I try to work on my math homework, but focusing on derivatives is impossible when Jeralia’s gaunt face still haunts me.

Alena hasn’t even bothered to pull out her homework and is doodling on her tablet, occasionally twirling the stylus. Strands of her burnt-orange hair flicker in the breeze, infinitely more interesting than the math problems I should be solving. Alena catches me looking and grins. 

“Did you notice Jeralia today?” I blurt. 

“No, why?” asks Alena, her expression falling a bit. 

“Everyone just ignored her.”

“Yeah, Jase. She killed a man yesterday. Did you think everyone would treat her like normal?”

“Yeah, but it’s not her fault. The Cleansings are a game, designed to control us. How can we trust each other when every other person is a murderer?”

Alena throws up her hands. “What are you getting at, Jase? It’s not like we can do anything about it.”

“Let’s run away.” I meant it as a joke, but as I say the words, the idea burrows into the soil of my mind like a seed and grows roots. 

“You know we can’t just up and leave,” she scoffs. “Besides, there’s a fucking force field around the entire city.”

“But why is there a force field?” 

“To protect us.”

“From what?”

“Radiation, wild animals, you know…”

“Why can’t we leave? Surely there are other communities out there.”

“I don’t know, Jase. I don’t know!” Alena grits out. “Just let it be. Learn to live in the moment.”

“Even if they’re numbered?”

She just shakes her head and goes back to doodling.

I’m going to find a way out of here, I resolve. But how?

Maybe the answer lies under the arena. I glare at it, and the hulking metal beast of the arena glares back.

*****

“You look nervous,” Dad says the next evening as we walk to the communal dining hall of our neighborhood.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “Just worried about stuff, ever since last Cleansing.”

“That girl. She is your classmate, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Dad smoothes out the curls in my hair. “Just try to forget about it and don’t worry too much,” he says. 

That’s what Dad’s been trying to tell himself since Mom was Cleansed five years ago. As if he could ever erase the image of her hacked-up body from his mind.

Yeah, try to forget, don’t worry. Until it’s your turn to die. 

After getting my dinner tray, I tell Dad I’ll be right back and hustle over to where Alena is sitting with her family.

She smiles when I come over, but before she can say anything, I grab her hand and drag her over to a quiet corner of the dining hall. 

“What’s up, Jase?” Her brow creases at my somberness. 

I lean closer and whisper, “I found a way out of the Community.”

“No way,” Alena breathes, eyes widening. “How?”

I tell her about the man I met at the arena after dark yesterday and the hidden tunnel he divulged after I forked over most of my savings. “Let’s leave,” I say urgently. “This Sunday, right before the Cleansing. No one will be out, and no one will notice us. By the time they check our attendance, we’ll be long gone.”

Alena breathes rapidly, scanning my face for some sign that this is all an elaborate prank. But we’re past the age when we used to pelt each other with mud and mess with the brakes on each other’s bikes. 

“Are you crazy, Jase? They’ll catch you, and who knows what the Governor’s men will do to you! Have you forgotten it was the Governor himself who instituted the Cleansings?”

“Of course not!” People are looking at us, so I lower my voice. “But I can’t live in this fear anymore. I can’t see someone else I love in the arena…like…my Mom.”

I can barely choke the words out, and I shake with the force of keeping in wracking sobs. Alena’s face softens, and she wraps her arms around me.

“Don’t sign your death wish just yet, Jase. Stay. For me.”

For you, anything, I think as my tears continue flowing. 

*****

During the next Cleansing, Alena’s father is chosen to fight in the arena. It all happens in slow motion as the screens beep with his name, as he walks down to the field. He’s such a wispy man, and I want to scream at the Governor that he doesn’t know how to use a spear because he’s the goddamn librarian, but I can’t do anything. 

As soon as the gates roll open, his opponent sprints to his spear and hurls it right into Alena’s father’s heart. It's almost mesmerizing how the spear arcs through the air, plunging through flesh with a squelch. 

A cloud of dust puffs up as he hits the ground, spear protruding from his chest. 

Still as a statue, Alena stares at the screen the whole time, disbelieving the fact that her father’s name is up there. 

“We leave next Sunday,” she whispers after the dismissal gong sounds, and the officers carry his body away. 

And that is that. We meet by the arena when the day comes, no bags or backpacks to avoid suspicion. I couldn't bear to say goodbye to Dad. I hope he’ll understand. 

Holding hands, Alena and I slip out of the crowd funneling into the arena, and jog to the forest. Within minutes, we’ve left the bustle of the Community for the silence of the tall pine trees.

Alena and I trek all day, stopping only briefly and constantly looking over our shoulders. But no officers chase us. 

We reach the clearing where the man under the arena said the tunnel would be. Sure enough, there’s a hole in the ground hidden behind some bushes, right next to the undulating wall of the force field. 

I grab Alena’s hands and we jump for joy. I’m so focused on the flush in her cheeks that I don’t notice the three officers emerging from the bushes. By the time I register their figures, one of them has a laser gun pressed to my head. 

“On your knees, hands up. Both of you!” the officer yells. 

We do as he says, and one of his colleagues slaps cuffs onto our wrists. 

How did they find us? Maybe someone sold us out, maybe they have officers stationed here all the time. At this point, it doesn’t matter. My shoulders slump, and so do Alena’s.

They stuff us into a truck and dump us into a cell underneath the arena, of all places. Who knew the Community had a prison? I have to chuckle at the irony of it; here we are, right beneath the place we were so desperately trying to avoid. 

“What do you think they’ll do to us?” Alena asks as we huddle together.

“They won’t tell anyone we attempted to escape. Otherwise, more will try it,” I say.

“So, are they just going to keep us locked up here forever?”

No, they won’t, I think, looking up to where the arena lies above us. 

*****

Days pass. Officers bring in water and energy bars for us. One day, they come in and clamp metal bracelets to our wrists with micro needles on the inside that pierce our skin. For what?

We find out when two officers escort us into the arena and seat us in the front row. Aluminum-gray clouds gather on the horizon as the arena fills. Alena and I hold hands, both of us spiky with tense electricity. 

The Governor rises onto the pedestal and welcomes us to the 21,406th Cleansing. On the screens, the program cycles through names. I grip Alena’s fingers tighter. The screen beeps. 

The Governor yells, “Alena Gerrin, report to gate one! Jase Kapur, report to gate two!” Of course it’s not random.

Our hands are torn apart as the officers march us off to our respective gates. Someone shrieks, and I scan the audience for the source. A chasm opens in my heart when I realize it’s Dad. He tries to run down to the field, only to be dragged away kicking by an officer. No, no, Dad. 

I press against the plexiglass barrier surrounding the field, trying to meet Alena’s gaze, but I only glimpse her shimmering hair. 

I look up at the Governor as he opens a sheet of paper. He grins. “Your Cleansing method is fists. Good luck, and let the Cleansing begin!”

The gates roll open, and Alena and I jog to each other. We circle, fists out, putting on a show. That’s all they want, a good-old fistfight. 

We’re within striking distance, but we continue circling. 

“I will not kill you,” I murmur to Alena.

“Neither will I,” she responds.

I hesitate before saying the words I’ve wanted to say for so long. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Fire in our eyes, we drop our fists and join hands, holding them up for all to see. 

As if we’re letters on a page he’s scrutinizing through a magnifying glass, the Governor squints at us. He sees our defiance, sees that we are done playing this game. The Governor snaps his fingers, signaling someone. 

The bracelets on Alena’s wrists gleam, and she crumples to the ground. And then the screaming begins. I drop to her side and watch in horror as she convulses. The bracelets. They cause pain. 

Alena thrashes and grabs my hand. “Kill me. Please,” she gasps. 

“Stop this!” I shout at the Governor, but he just shakes his head, almost sadly. Only you can stop this, his gaze says.

My bracelets activate, and it feels like a knife is carving every inch of my skin, twisting into my insides, shattering my bones.

With a roar of agony, I climb onto Alena. Kill me, she mouths, eyes rolling back in her head. No! I want to shake her, howl at her to pummel me into the ground, but she’s already given up. 

Only I can stop this.

I raise my fist and slam it into her throat. Crunch. 

Tears stream from my eyes as I do it again and again–punch, crack–until her neck and chest are splintered and my arm is dripping with blood, but I don’t stop, because I can still hear her rasping breath, and I need to end this torture, even though I don’t know whose pain I want to end more. 

Does it matter?

 I arc my final blow through the air and smash through Alena’s windpipe.

And the breath leaves her body forever. 

I take Alena’s face in my hands, memorizing the curve of her arched eyebrows, the tilt of her nose, the fullness of the lips I’ll never get to kiss. For you, anything. 

Thunder drowns out the Governor as he proclaims me the Victor, Alena the Cleansed. 

I stand up as the rain begins splattering on my skin. Then the droplets thicken and the sky begins to weep. Water runs down my arms, washing away Alena’s blood, washing away the pain. Cleansing me. 

But I know that no matter how many times I wash my hands, they’ll always be dredged in a sticky copper red.