The left-behinds
I wake up on a beautiful spring morning,
My head heavy from a thousand sleepless nights.
The shaft of sunlight blinds me
As I squint into the wakefulness of a new day.
The Outside seems more beautiful than usual;
What a glorious day for early in April.
From where I lay I can hear the birds singing,
And I crawl to the spot where the Sun warms my face.
I lay there for several minutes,
Eyes shut, pretending that I’m a Freeman.
I then scramble to my feet
And peer out of the narrow window.
My face is met with a warm, soft breeze,
Caressing my smooth skin.
Down below, the Freemen frolic in the meadows,
Enjoying the spring sunshine.
Occasionally they glance up at the left-behinds,
Usually to jeer, and mock and laugh,
So for this reason I am grateful to be separated from them.
A young Freeman couple lie on the lawn,
Nearer to us than Freemen usually go and stay.
They hold hands basking in the Sun.
They lay in each other’s arms without a care in the world.
I too want to enjoy the Sun,
But the bars on my window prevent me from being in direct sunlight.
I stick my arm out,
Reach out as far as the bars will let me,
Right to my shoulder.
But still I cannot reach direct sunlight.
The Sun is hiding behind my building.
The air is warm and light and still filters into my cell.
Never mind, I shall be grateful for what I have.
I leave the window and approach the wall to my right.
“Comrade, comrade!” I shout,
Banging my fist against the concrete.
“Have you seen what a beautiful day it is in the Outside today!”
“No, I hadn’t noticed!” the boy shouts back.
“I thought it was a day like any other.
I’ve been enjoying this marvellous book by Dickens.
Aren’t the older works the best?”
“Can’t say I’m a fan of Dickens myself,” I reply,
Slightly dismayed.
I approach the wall on my left.
“Comrade, have you seen what a beautiful day it is in the Outside
today!”
There is no reply.
“Comrade! Are you ok?”
Still no reply.
I rummage in my trunk for the release book.
I scan the hundreds of numbers and dates printed in rows and columns.
I remember her number and find her,
The girl to the left of me.
Her release date was yesterday.
The fourth release this week.
“Sophie! Sophie!”
I clamber to my feet and go to the window.
My friend stands beneath the window,
Looking up at me with a silly smile.
“How are you today?”
“Well, I was just commenting on what a beautiful day it is in the
Outside today.”
“Oh, same as usual really. You know what they say,
The grass is always greener on the other side.”
“Erm, there’s no grass in my cell at all.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“Oh,” he replies solemnly. “Well enjoy the sunshine then.”
“I can’t reach it but I can feel the warmth,
And the light comes in here.”
“Ah well, that’s something then.”
My friend has been a Freeman since November.
I do think the fresh air has gone to his head rather.
“Honestly Sophie, you’ve not been yourself lately,”
He looks up at me and says,
A melancholy tone in his voice.
“It’s just these four walls,
They get to me sometimes.
Oh did you know,
The girl to my left has been released.”
“Oh, really?” he replies without interest. “Someone will replace her
next year.”
“She was in the release book, did you not see?”
“I don’t really look at the release book.”
Freemen never do.
I’m pretty sure they throw their books out upon release.
“Any stories from your end?” I ask him.
“Ooh yeah,” he replies,
A beam spreading across his face.
“There was this party,
And this one girl got so drunk that she fell over and rolled all the
way down the hill and made a right tit of herself,”
He says, doubled in fits of laughter.
“It was so funny,
We all just stood there and laughed at her.”
“Oh,” I reply.
“We don’t have alcohol in the Children’s institute.”
“Yeah, I knew that,” he replies,
The smile going from his face.
“I don’t know if you knew this,” I tell him,
“But some people escaped from here the other night to join the Freemen.
Of-course it was before their release date.
It turns out they’ve been sneaking out into the night somehow,
And returning to their cells in the dawn.
I think they thought they could get away with it ‘cause they look like
Freemen,
And they talk like them and act like them.
In fact, the Freemen would probably never have known the difference,
That is until the Police got to those people.
I guess they just wanted to be with their friends.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replies shiftily.
“They’re gone now, those people,
They’re not in Freeman’s land, are they,
They’re not here either.
They’re just gone, taken away.”
“Yeah. Well I wouldn’t worry about it to be honest.
Look, I don’t understand why you get so upset about these things,”
He says, shrugging his shoulders.
“You’re not upset, are you buddy!” he shouts up to my right.
“Dickens and I are happy!” comes the sing-song voice from the cell to
my right.
“You see, Sophie,” my Freeman friend says to me,
Rolling his eyes impatiently.
“Everyone waits the same for release, it’s no big deal.
When’s your release date again?”
“29th May,” I reply,
The date seared into my mind,
From months of sitting and glaring at it,
The print fading in my tattered release book.
“Oh that’s soon enough then,
You’ll be out here with us,” he replies with a childish grin.
“You know, posters have started going up around the Children’s
institute,”
I tell him.
“Posters?” he says, puzzled.
“Election posters.”
“Oh right, yeah. The election campaign’s been getting underway out here
as well. Not sure when it is.”
“May 6th. You should know,
Only Freemen can vote.”
“Sor-ry, I didn’t know.
I’m not into all this political stuff. It’s boring really.”
“I don’t know why there are posters here to be honest.
Perhaps they’re trying to trick us into thinking we’re equal with
Freemen,”
I say with a chuckle.
So my thoughts turn again to 6th May,
A day where there will be much feasting and merrymaking,
But also a day by which all the land has gathered to discuss topics of
great importance,
The future of the land,
Even of the world.
A day when the people will go to the polls and have their say
And make their voices heard.
Like all meetings, gatherings, parties, discussions,
Elections and decisions made of any importance,
Only Freemen are invited.
For it is only the Freemen who possess the capability to make
decisions,
To think and feel and have opinions and make choices.
This day, which occurs only once every five years,
Will be three weeks shy of my release date.
The opinions of the left-behinds are not valid.
We are the minors,
We are the minors,
The ‘underage’,
The Under an Age that someone somewhere has picked.
We are here because we are unintelligent compared to the Freemen.
We are incapable of carrying the responsibilities of the Freemen.
Our voices are muted behind concrete walls.
“Why don’t you go and make your voice heard,”
I call down to my friend,
“Make a stand for our generation.”
We are, after all,
My Freeman friend and I,
Supposedly of the same age and
maturity.
“Nah, can’t be arsed,” he calls back.
“Elections and meetings and discussions bore me.
I’d rather drink and run in the meadows.”
Tears well up in my eyes as a shooting pain runs through my hand.
I realise I’ve been gripping the bars too tightly,
And a jagged edge at the base of the window has cut the palm of my
hand.
“You okay?” he calls up again.
“Yup,” I reply, fighting back tears. “I’ve just cut my hand.”
The bars were exceptionally cold, I notice.
“Oh crap!” comes the cry from down below.
Neither of us had noticed the rain clouds roll in.
Huge raindrops begin to beat down from the sky.
“Right, I’ve gotta run. Hope stuff gets better for you,” he says,
Shielding his head and dashing back down the slope to the meadow.
The rain picks up.
I stand by the window and look out at the startled Freemen
Dashing across the meadow towards the buildings,
Baffled that heavy rain could come so quickly from nowhere
On what was such a beautiful April morning.
Ah well, I think.
I’m already sheltered.
My thoughts move from the May elections to the horror of that vague
end-of-August deadline,
The time when the young Freemen will be shooed from the meadows,
To make way for the next batch below us.
By the end of August,
All those imprisoned will have been freed.
But at the end of August,
The young Freemen will go their separate ways,
And they will no longer live in the meadows of the Freeman’s land.
I knew all along that what my Freeman friend had said was false.
I knew that everyone does not wait the same for release,
But I agreed with him lest he too tells me I’m crazy.
Everyone in the Children’s institute waits from the beginning of
September.
My friend was released after just two months,
Ahead of most of his friends.
I have watched my friends being released into the Freeman’s land one by
one.
I have watched important discussions and events come and go without me,
From the window of my cell.
I have watched parties and meetings come and go,
And I will watch the greatest election of the land come and go.
This I take without a fuss because it is my place in this cell in the
Children’s institute.
I have already waited five months longer than my Freeman friend,
That’s seven months from the start-date and still counting,
Watching from my window with a smile as the clock ticks and the days
come and go.
On the day of my release,
Some of us will have had nearly a year together
In the meadows of the Freeman’s land.
Comrade-to-the-right and I will be lucky to get three months before the
time to leave.
But as I gaze out of my window,
And watch the Freemen furthest from their buildings get drenched,
I sigh,
Back away and sit against the concrete wall.
It could always be worse.
Sophie Horrocks
6th April 2010
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