Descent to Dystopian

I miss when dystopian life only existed in books and movies. When I would read tales of hardship, survival, loss, and much more, and for some reason still wish this dreadful reality was my own. To be fair, my idea of what a dystopian society might look like was a lot more digestible. Of course, there would be corruption, but there would also be uprisings and rebellions, and underground networks working tirelessly to form the perfect revolution, perfect down to the time it took place. I still can’t believe how naive I was back then.

Things happened slowly, at first. People were disappearing almost without a trace. Some men, but so, so many women. And for the longest time, the masses, myself included, believed the lies that the government fed us: that this was nothing new. That people have always gone missing, even disappearing without a trace. They quoted famous cases, and most people didn’t do much about it because they fell into the mentality that it wouldn’t happen to them or their loved ones. It was so suspicious, though, because more often than not, it was families going missing. Whole, entire families! Conspiracy theories floated around, but I was one of the many people who essentially closed my eyes and plugged my ears when presented with them. It was a scary and devastating reality, and I assured myself by telling myself that getting worked up about what I didn’t know and couldn’t help would only make matters worse. I don’t even know what the truth was, but I remember the day I became more than just a concerned civilian.

My family lived in a rural area, just outside of town. We were a dirt road away from any other signs of human life, and it was my Dad, my older brother Josh, and I who decided we needed a few things from the store. I remember how upon entering the grocery store, I got goosebumps and could physically feel the hair on my arms stand up, anticipating some unknown threat. Glancing at Josh, trying to soothe my paranoia, he locked eyes with me, his face painted with my same fear. My stomach dropped. He was afraid, too. Except, he masked his fear with a look of intimidation. Eyes seemed to follow us as I lingered close to my brother down the different aisles. Some looked at me strangely, and others with curiosity. As if they hadn’t seen a real woman in the longest time. Our Dad noticed, too, and cut our shopping short. He ushered us into the car and drove home hastily. No one said anything. Once home, we all kind of lingered in the driveway, thankful to be away from the prying eyes, but Dad had something to say. He zeroed in on me.

With harsh blue eyes, he announced, “I won’t deny whatever that was,” he referenced the uncomfortable tension of a simple shopping trip, “But from now on, you will not leave the walls of our home, not even into the yard, without your brother or me with you.” I nodded because there was no point in disputing his decision. I only wish it had been that easy.

Dad led the way into the house, carrying the few groceries we managed to grab before it all became too much. Josh came up behind me, and I noticed, as Dad all but acclaimed himself and Josh as my guards, how Josh held his head a bit higher and shoulders a bit straighter.

A loud, guttural scream ripped from inside the house, and Josh and I rushed in to see what our Dad had encountered to evoke such raw fear. However, as we turned the hallway corner and came into the kitchen, we watched as our Dad battled two masked men dressed in black.

Josh jumped into the fight to aid Dad, but Dad roared, “Run!”

By now, we knew what this was. Two more masked men appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere. My Dad fought like a madman, trying to buy us enough time to get out. Josh grabbed onto me and dragged me out of the house, gripping my arm so hard I knew it would bruise. He brought me to the driver’s seat and shoved the keys in my hand. Just as I was about to ask why I would drive and not him, considering he has his license and I don’t, I didn’t need to wonder much longer.

He never intended to come with me. I watched as a pair of the masked men came barreling out of the front door, and Josh slapped the hood of the car twice, instructing me to get going. After starting the car, I flew into reverse, down our dirt driveway, my eyes jumping between the road through the rear view mirror and watching my brother be beaten by two goons. I thought of driving forward and hitting the masked men, but that would mean hitting Josh, too. He held on tight to them, being beaten but refusing to let go and allowing them to advance on me. Speeding down the dirt road that only led to a more desolate region, the car kicked up so much dust that I couldn’t tell if I was being chased or not. My whole body buzzed with fear and anxiety, and I wanted nothing more than to turn back and at least attempt to fight the men and save my family, but I knew how that would end, and I refused to let their sacrifices be in vain.

I don’t know how long I drove, but I kept speeding the entire time, giving those monsters no chance to gain on me.

After a couple of hours driving, the gas was almost empty. There was nowhere to get some, and I didn’t know who to trust. There was no rational part of me in the inner argument I had with myself.

“I could find a town, beg for help and tell them what happened.”

Don’t you remember the hungry eyes in the store?

“Someone would help me! They would have to!”

You forget how much easier it is to turn your head in the face of danger. They want no part of the problem you bring to them. Some might even take advantage…

My stomach turned as my thoughts bounced around. After today’s earlier events, I didn’t dare discount my paranoia. The only men I trust are surely dead, and my mother- I know she isn’t in that house. And if she is… she isn’t alive.

I tortured myself wondering how they gained entry to our home, or what they did to my Mom. I couldn’t understand the motive. This. This had to be what was happening nationwide. Whole families disappearing. Some men, more women. We were the targets. Our male loved ones were collateral. But why?

Eventually, the car completely ran out of gas, so I tried to veer it into the ditch to make it harder to see for passing cars, not that my efforts did much. I walked along the ditch with nothing but the car keys between my fingers, the same way I was taught when I was twelve and started walking to and from school by myself.

A while passed before I heard the distant rumble of an engine. Looking ahead, there was nothing. Turning behind me, I saw the small speck of a vehicle getting closer. Stepping into the ditch, I did my best to crouch down and hide, but it didn’t help that the car’s brights were on and the ditch in this area was unfortunately shallow. I was beyond visible despite the darkening sky.

The truck came to a painful stop, and I listened as the window rolled down.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” A man’s voice asked. He sounded young, though.

“Um,” I thought. How much longer could I go on like this? I had nothing but the clothes on my back. It was already dark, and would soon be cold, and I had no idea where the road ahead would lead me, if anywhere at all. “No, not really.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Yes, thank you.” Getting up out of the ditch, I let myself into his passenger seat. Pulling the door shut, I barely had time to face him before my torso stung with a sharp, white-hot pain that travelled throughout my body, quickly quieting my mind.

When I woke, I was first groggy, but when I remembered what had happened last, my movements turned rapid. I pulled against myself to gather my bearings, only to realise I had been restrained.

The room was dark and cold, both in temperature and mood. The air smelled stale, and the cold shocked my nose. I listened to the literal chains clank as I struggled to maneuver around their hold on me.

“Help!” I screamed as loudly as my voice could go. I wasted no time with questions or asking the abyss, “Hello.” Someone brought me here, so someone was here with me. I screamed more. No words, just animalistic sounds to hopelessly summon another. Finally, a door so hidden in the shadows that I hadn’t noticed it, creaked open. Out stepped a man. The same man who picked me up in his truck.

“You’re awake,” he noted.

“You work with the masked men,” I accused.

“Yes. Do you want to know why you’re here?”

“I want to know where my mother is.”

“That’s not for me to tell or you to know.”

I gritted my teeth. “Then tell me why I’m here.”

He smiled, and it made my throat tighten. “You are one of the many women chosen for this sector-”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” I raised my voice. “Why am I here? Why have I, my mother, and countless other women been taken? That’s what I want to know!”

“We all want a lot, yet we only get what we are given.”

Or what we take, I thought bitterly.

“The sectors all serve a purpose, and no life goes to waste. It is all in the name of advancements.”

“What is?” I asked, completely and utterly confused.

“It depends on the sector. Genetic advancements, psychological research, you name it, and it likely has a sector dedicated to the cause. And what better subjects than the makers of life themselves?”

“This all sounds like an operation of abuse,” I spoke more to myself than to him. Not that I needed to convince myself as I listened to the jingle of my chains.

He looked at the floor. “If you refuse to see the reason in what is being done, then I cannot convince you of its purpose. But I will say-” he stopped himself.

“Say what?” I prodded.

He shook his head. “It’s not my place. Suffice to say, you should count yourself lucky you’re in my sector. Many women suffer in sectors that seem less about our research and more about, how do I say?” he thought aloud.

Horrifying possibilities flooded my mind in images I couldn’t blink away.

“Researcher’s gratification?” I spat the words as if they left a literal taste in my mouth.

He nodded solemnly.

“Whatever is going on here, you know it isn’t right. You consider yourself a researcher, working for the greater good! Have some humanity!

He sighed. “You simply don’t understand.”

Hours went by where I did nothing but stare at the room that was my prison and occasionally lash against my restraints, which never budged. Hours turned into days, which turned into weeks, and I questioned the purpose of this research a billion times over, because what was there to even research in driving me crazy with boredom and captivity?

I comforted myself with delusions. I recalled my family and moulded them into characters in my mind to play along with the mundane stories I entertained myself with. I imagined my brother and I fighting. My mom and I going shopping where no one stares. Us all watching a movie in the evening together. A million different scenarios where we existed in peace in the home that housed our family. It ached to recall my last memory there. Their last moments there.

I wondered what sector Mom was in, and I feared she was no longer alive, as I thought for hours on end just what kind of torture might take place in other sectors.

I only ever interacted with others when they took the necessary steps to keep me alive: feed me, hydrate me, clean me. At first, I pleaded with them, but they never even acknowledged me as anything more than a chore to complete. Then, I made things difficult for them, fighting them and thrashing every chance I got. Eventually, I took control of the only aspect of my life I had control of and started refusing food. Even when they did their best attempts at literally shoving it down my throat, I would force myself to gag over and over until it became real, and the vomit rose in my throat.

I lost track of how much time passed, and I scarcely saw the nameless man who kidnapped me all those nights ago. However, one day, or night, I don’t know as I long lost the ability to know which was which in my windowless chamber, he rushed into the room. He carried a sense of urgency in his movements, and I realised he was releasing me from my chains.

“What are you doing?” I muttered, confused and weak.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he spoke hurriedly.

Grabbing my arm the same way Josh did the day we were ambushed, he pulled me out of the dark room and down the sterile-looking hallways. Shadows seemed to lurk despite the harsh white lights, and unease settled like a stone in my stomach. Voices in the distance grew louder, and he silently pulled us into some type of storage closet. I held my breath as I listened to them pass us. Another minute passed before he dared to even crack the door.

We were on our way again, and he led us down a dark staircase. One floor, then a second, and a third. I didn’t know if we were in a high rise or headed underground, but I followed because what was my alternative? Finally, he opened another door with one of the many keys he had on him. Inside, I came face to face with seven other women. Some young, like me. Others older, with the same fine lines that made me ache for the comfort of my mother’s face. No words were exchanged as he unlocked another door within the room we were in. We followed like lost puppies through corridors lined with dumpsters. They were dirty with blood leaking off of them, and a quick glance inside revealed lifeless female forms, their skin not even pale yet. Some had visible bruising and busted blood vessels along their faces and necks. Others were cut maliciously in a way that almost looked like some sick design. One had her eyes still open, not yet white, but a glaze had set over them. And after more taunting hallways and mysteriously locked doors, he presented us with a door that led out to an underground passage way.

“Where does this go?” One of the older women asked him.

“It leads out of the Research grounds.”

“What if it’s a trap?” I proposed to the other women. Turning on him, I asked, throwing his words back at him, “I thought all this had a purpose?”

His eyes were hollow, and he looked to have aged years since I last saw him. “I can’t justify what’s being done anymore. Greed is the heaviest stone, and will always outweigh its competitors.”

May as well set us on our way with a riddle, I thought to myself.

“When you make it out of the tunnels, stay with each other and trust no one. Let no one fool you into thinking rejoining society is what’s safest. That will simply put you back on their radar.”

As we hesitantly began taking our first steps into the tunnel, I lingered behind and turned back to ask one last question.

“Is it safe out there?”

“No less than in here.”