The Flight of Jack-Rabbit

September 5, 3215

  The Moon Troopers. My luck has run out. Run I did but relentless was their pursuit.

  I could feel my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Gasping in my suit’s filtered air, I urged my aching body to keep going, dashing over protruding debris. I almost tripped over a metal scrap, barely seeing it in the dimming sunset. I can hear them speeding up. I looked behind me and saw the land rover, dust behind its trail. A Trooper pointed a gun at me. I discarded my pack in the hopes of being faster. I heard a faint crash as it hit the ground. My chest was a riot. Come on, damn legs. Get me out of here.

  A sudden shock went through my body and I fell. My visor broke and was assaulted by the smell of sulfur and burning gasoline. I couldn’t see clearly through the barren landscape as my vision started to water. No. Not today. As I struggled to regain my balance, my arms were seized on both sides in a vise-like grip. My mind was fighting for resistance but my body was a sluggish heap. The unfiltered air wasn’t good for any exposed body. You can’t, I pleaded soundlessly. I’d rather be killed down here.

  The Moon Troopers weren’t keen on killing boys. The Westbin State Council forbade them.

  Boys were sent to the moon instead.

• • ♦ • •

July 11, 3215

  A years has passed since we saw my brother last. I still recall the men in black suits and glass helmets that took him away for his Enlistment.

  Last night, our Newsbox chimed – a message came through. The Newsbox was a small device inset in a wall of our miserably kept living room. It was the way of the State Council in disseminating crucial information to its citizens. Good evening, This is to notify the Rubbens’ residence of a former Exploration candidate’s arrival tomorrow, 12^th of July, year 3215. The Moon Troopers will aid Mr. Hasof Rubbens in his return at 10:00 a.m. The Exploration is grateful for your service. May the heavens be kept alight.

  It was about time he came home. We stared at the illuminated box, frozen in place. Dad looked again at the screen, brows furrowed. Mom stood unblinking in the dimness. I was confused. Climbing up to my bedroom, I didn’t know whether to be happy or be anxious. The tingling in my feet suggested the latter.

  I took off my boots and suit pants. The humidity glued my undershirt to my body. I rummaged my dresser for a change of clothes.

  In the wee hours of the night, I was restless with anticipation – I know Mom and Dad were too. I could hear the Airscreen buzzing downstairs. Beyond my flaking window, I saw the Moon with its greenish yellow glow; no doubt caused by the poisoned atmosphere. I always noticed a small peculiar dot in its bright surface, aside from its darker impressions. The dot seemed incongruous in the lunar scene. I shivered and somehow, I must’ve fallen asleep.

July 12, 3215

  Today was the day Hasof came home.

 Dad had already gone to the junk factory, starting off early in his daily work. Breakfast was a reheated serving of canned beans, along with canned milk. Again. Everything we ate was preserved in cans. Canned eggs. Canned stew. Canned broccoli. These metal containers were indispensable, especially when you live in an environment of spoil. I forced myself to eat.

  “Jack, I need you to run some errands for me,” Mom said. “I’ll start preparing your brother’s room while you’re gone.” I could sense the uneasiness from her as she handed me a piece of paper. I looked at the list and saw…more canned food…and some other stuff I need to pick up along the way. I sighed. This was not the time for complaints.

  I swung my pack on my shoulders. After donning my gloves and helmet, I stepped out. The sun was bright against my visor. The morning light exposed the unpleasant picture of our neighborhood. The houses were shabby and gray, worn out by the extreme weather. The front yards I passed looked like they were made of ash and sawdust. The pavement cracked and the asphalt melted under the heat. People were seldom seen out in the town. If we ever go out, we must wear thick gray polymer suits if we wanted to stay alive. The suit was built in with filtration and cooling systems to protect our bodies from bio-hazards. If I looked far enough, I could see the unforgiving landscape of the Wastelands, skirting the edge of our town. Metal scraps and death were the only things left there. Signs of life were never seen on the outskirts.

  Earth is dying. Westbin State was the last living civilization as far as we knew. One of the last attempts of sustaining it was to search for an alternative energy source. Energy from the sun and wind wasn’t enough to keep the State running. Clean water was scarce. Turbulent hurricanes and tornadoes wreaked havoc on our remaining resources. As a result, our population thinned at an alarming rate.

 Decades ago, at the desperation of the State Council, they launched the Pareidolian Exploration to focus on a possible source: the Moon. Astonishingly, amidst the scarcity, the space missions were commissioned and set afoot. And this somehow created dissension among the people. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” the State Council said in their defense. They even built a massive research facility and it can even be seen down on Earth as a small dot. It was funny to think that a dying planet must rely on an already-dead heavenly body to survive.

  I made all the stops in town, as directed by Mom’s list. Being done with my errands, I went back. My bag was heavy with all the canned rations and supplies. As I walked towards our neighborhood, I saw a rover stopping in front of our house. Three people came down of the skeleton vehicle. The one in the gray suit was flanked on both sides by the two figures in black gears, Moon Troopers. Shock guns were strapped to their backs.

  Hasof was home.

July 15, 3215

  Shudders went off the Airscreen, the equipment installed on the corner of our dining room’s ceiling. It sucks out the impurities present in the house’s atmosphere, making the air breathable. Our voices must also have been sucked out given the silence of everybody. I poked at my vegetables, losing my appetite. Hasof’s plate sat untouched.

  Three days have passed and Hasof still hasn’t said a single word. His eyes were always staring out into a distance. Sometimes he would move as if he were in a trance. We had to look over him like a toddler. What bothered us was the scar on the left side of his forehead. It was a burn mark. “Whatever did they do to you, my boy?” Mom coaxed. My brother was unresponsive. Mom did all she can to stop herself from crying. Dad was in quiet rage.

  As mandated by the governing Council, on the exact day of their birthday, all seventeen-year-old youths were to be taken to the Enlistment. The Enlisteds were to be trained until a new space mission was deployed. Out of all the candidates, only one is chosen to be sent for the Pareidolian Exploration. Their motto: Light is thy Youth.

  The top candidate’s family will get a generous compensation. The rest of them will be sent home, receiving nothing. Even though this resulted in a schism, desperation won over as people hoped to have a shot at a better life.

  With dinner finished, I assisted my brother to his bedroom. As he settled, I went straight to mine. When I was a kid, Mom used to tell me bedtime stories. My favorite one was a tale about a rabbit. She told it to me every night. The story goes: A long time ago, a Jade Emperor disguised himself as a beggar to look for an animal worthy of mixing the elixir of life. Hungry, the emperor requested the forest animals for food. With nothing to give but grass, the rabbit instead offered to sacrifice himself as food. The Emperor was impressed by this selfless act. As the rabbit was about to jump into the fire, the Emperor saved him and took him to the Moon to help prepare the elixir of life. “And that’s why we see a rabbit in the Moon,” Mom said.

  I looked at the Moon and its humble rabbit. Was Hasof’s sacrifice worth his pain? I didn’t think so. Gazing up to the skies doesn't always fix the cracks beneath our feet.

August 19, 3215

  I bolted upright, disoriented for a minute. It was the middle of the night. I could hear thudding footsteps on the stairs. And the screams. Hasof. For the past few weeks, I was sleepless because of these episodes. Dad was the only one who could calm him. Inching my way to the adjacent door frame, I saw my brother clutching Dad’s arm. Hasof was shirtless, shivering and covered in sweat. I noticed the scars on his pale shoulders. The burn mark on his forehead stood out in his contorted face. Dad saw me as he struggled to calm my brother.

  Eventually, the screams stopped. Dad put his forefinger on his lips, telling me to stay quiet. Hasof slowly drifted back to sleep, body turning slack in the drenched sheets. Silence was restored and all we could do was stare at him.

  When you’re an Exploration candidate, either you still stay impoverished and end up insane. Or, in a more twisted fate, be rich but still end up dead. Neither sits well in my stomach, knowing which one befell Hasof. Looking at my brother didn’t diminish my growing anxiety. The Enlistment will turn me into my brother – a failed experiment.

  Dad retreated back to his room with Mom. I did the same. But as the sky neared its dawn, I just sat looking at the peeling wallpapers of my confinement, my foot tapping faintly on the floorboards.

August 26, 3215

  Logan Starkwight, the boy from the recent deployment, was dead. Only months into the mission and the people are to mourn already his unfortunate death. Top candidates get the brunt of the extraterrestrial works. According to the circulating news, Logan was charting a territory of the Moon when his primary life support system malfunctioned and was found too late. The State Council will deploy the next top candidate within a year.

  Cold dread weighed in my gut as my seventeenth birthday came closer.

September 4, 3215

  The Newsbox gave off an ominous chime.

  Good evening. This to notify the Rubbens’ residence that tomorrow, 5^th of September, year 3215, Mr. Jack Rubbens is to be escorted to his Enlistment. The Pareidolian Exploration extends its gratitude in advance for your service. May the heavens be kept alight.

  They’re coming for me.

September 5, 3215

  When I was seven, I remembered running in our desolate neighborhood street just for the fun of it. Mom was trailing behind me. Her gray polymer suit frayed in places, layered with dust. Her pack was carried by her petite shoulders. I could see her smiling beneath her visor and hear a muffled shout, “Run, Jack-Rabbit! Run!”

  I did and giggles escaped my lips. Without warning, Mom also broke into run after me, letting out a playful growl as if she were a monster who eats children. I raced her home and unsurprisingly, I won. As we took off our helmets inside the house, she said, “You’re one fast bunny, Jack, with those lucky little feet.” Mom set down her pack in our worn-out couch, clunking with stuff she bought.

  I stared at her quizically and asked, “Lucky?”

  “Why, yes, Jacky-Bunny. According to stories, bunny feet give luck,” she replied, tickling my tummy. I let out a breathless laugh.

  I heard the Moon Troopers’ screeching tires. I sneaked out the back door clumsily, bumping my helmet in its frame. My heart was hammering inside my chest. They can’t take me away.

  Ten years ago, I may have run for my childish satisfaction.

  At the age of seventeen, I ran for my life towards the outskirts of death.

• • ♦ • •

August 30, 3216

Flight Day.

 I could still hear Councilman Foxburn’s tinny voice calling my name. Out of all the Enlisteds, I caught their spiteful attention. I got through my Enlistment but the torture was far from over. I became top candidate. I will replace Logan. The others will be sent home with lasting scars and traumas. Mine will only pile up.

  In a few minutes, my family will receive the news. In a few days, the Westbin State Council will give a generous amount of money for them to live a life in comfort – a consolation in advance. Because in a few months, I will be dead. The whole State will gravely add my name to the roster of boys who fell in the most tragic ways possible. My knees almost buckled as my head swam with the inevitability of it.

  I could barely recall myself changing into gear. The final preparations were a blur. I could see my distorted reflection in my helmet’s gold- plated visor. I averted my gaze and a few feet away, it landed on the rocket door. From where I stood, the wind billowed against my white spacesuit. The shuttle’s length was lost below the metal framework of the connecting passage. I could see the sprawling shadows of the Wastelands behind it, the memory of poison still vivid.

  A chill went up my spine. I could run away again but I know full well that escape was never an option. Nothing can escape the Westbin State and the atrocities to its people. Before, I only saw the Moon as a nightly spectacle. Not for long. The Exploration was waiting for me, in the hopes of resurrecting the brilliance of humankind. My pack on my sore shoulders seemed to grow heavier by the minute. I winced.

  Maybe a rabbit was destined to be seen on the face of the Moon. One can’t simply overlook it. As I took a step forward, closing the distance between me and my death sentence, one final thought came to mind. A kind of solace, certainly a short-lived one.

  Light is thy Youth.