Apocalypse by Alice Foxall
Today is the day of the Trials. I’m going to be late because the cabbages aren’t growing as fast as they need to again. It takes three of us to get enough to feed the colony when it used to only take one. Times haven’t changed much since I started working here, just enough that you can taste the discomfort in the air.
The air smells like warmth and paprika, reminding me it’s stew tonight. Nothing beats the Shepard’s Pie though. Sometimes I wonder if the larger Colonies have different meals to us or if we really are on the same weekly schedule. I wonder if they taste different to ours because they have bigger fields and bigger populations. Maybe they don’t have to ration their spices as much, so there’s more flavour. One day I’ll go to The City and try it for myself. I’ll stay for a whole week at least, so I get to try each and every meal, and then I’ll write home to mother and tell her about how different things are there. Or how not different they are. Depends how things work out.
Now I’m running because I don’t want to be late again. The other two don’t come to the Trials. They’re not interested in politics. It would be nice to have someone to run there with me every week. I have so much I want to talk about, about the Tried of the week. People my age don’t get a say, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to. Mum is never up for talking about it either. I don’t understand it. How can anyone not care about this stuff? It’s the biggest event of our community and we all play a part in it. It’s the only time I see any of the people I don’t work with. You can tell a lot about a person by how much they change in a week.
I can hear the Ceremony bells ringing but I stop running now as the Trials centre is in sight. The Clarks are in front of me. Ms Clark has flour stains all down her front. You’d think, as a baker, she’d find white clothes so marks like that don’t show up. Or maybe there are more dark ingredients involved in baking than I realise. I’ve never baked anything before so I guess I wouldn’t know.
Mr Clark does his best at lifting a smile to his lips, but I can see he’s back to not sleeping. Mum says it’s stress that keeps him up, but I always assumed baking was one of the most soothing tasks. There’s no harsh labour and no overtime if supplies are low. I think he doesn’t sleep because he argues with his wife. They live three doors down, but the doors are like earmuff covered ears. We all know they’re shouting. I couldn’t tell you what about.
I can’t see my mum in the crowd, but the Ceremony is already starting so there’s no time to find her now. Bending down slightly, I find a crevice between two heads allowing me to see the stage. The Colony leader is already at his plinth and the microphone screeches to life. Over to my left, Jim, a cleaner, is bent in a similar manner to me. I know Jim from seeing him at the Ceremony. We’ve only had the chance to speak a few times. Dawdling is discouraged after the Ceremony because there are jobs to do and meals to be served.
He seems like a nice kid. Smart too. He has some interesting views on the outcomes of the Ceremony. If we had a chance we could talk for hours. One day I think I’ll ask him to come to The City with me. We both have dreams bigger than our colony and I haven’t met anyone else like that. When I’m old enough he’ll definitely be the first one I invite to dinner.
He waves at me, but the colony leader is already talking so we’ll have to chat later, unless I lose him the crowd. The speech starts with the compulsory drivel about why we do what we do and why decisions like these are so essential in times like these. You can tell he gets bored of it himself. He used to make the same joke every single speech, but then people stopped laughing. Then he stopped laughing. Then he cut the joke out completely. I’m sure if I tried, even I could recite the whole monologue by heart. Once it’s over, the silence settles over the crowd. The next part is the part I look forward to the most.
Connected by chains, the sacrifices make their way on stage and the best part of the ceremony starts.
“Here are this week’s Tried.” The silence is ongoing. “After I have recited their crimes you will all be required to mark your polling sheets based on who’s crime you believe demonstrates the lowest concern and greatest alarm for the safety of our community.” He only says this part for new voters, those who have ‘reached the appropriate age to cast sufficient judgement’, as the laws of the Colony say. As much as I am of an age where I know who I’d choose, no poll card for me.
He goes down the line of the five criminals one by one, listing their crimes and lives so we have a complete picture. “Stealing bread from the Colony. Father of two. Widowed. No prior crimes committed.” He won’t get voted for, no one wants to see the orphanage have to take on two more kids, not when they’re already barely coping. “Attacking a member of the council. Husband. One prior conviction.” He’s got my vote. If I was his wife even, I’d vote for him, he’s not got much worth saving from the looks of it.
Votes are cast and the crowd disperses, and I’ve lost sight of Jim. The Tried are walked off stage and two of them are crying as they stare out to their crying family members in the distance.
My mother is one of the chefs who cooks the dinner for the Colony. One day when I’m not nimble enough for foraging anymore, I’ll probably do the same. All the recipes are pretty simple and memorable so I would probably excel here better than anywhere else. When I get to the kitchen, Mum is already doing prep for tonight’s meal. I fall into step and take a flank of meat to one of the counters. Before I get started, I check for metal. You only make that mistake once.
On the fourth finger there’s a ring. I recognise it from the Tried member who was voted for yesterday. With some struggle I slip it off. Bodies can swell up in this heat. It clatters into the metal box with a few others from the month ready to be melted down and recycled into something more useful. Like a knife. Or a fork.
After I’ve diced my portion, I throw it into the tub with the rest of the body and the stock gets poured over. Tonight’s stew is on the move.
Written by Alice Foxall
Hi I'm Alice, I'm a 21 year old biomedical science student living in London. I have a passion for science, breaking stigmas and maybe a cheeky story every once in a while. I love hash brown fries and if you haven't tried them you're missing out.