The second one was placed on my path home. The dirt road was crowded with leaves and weeds, and this time it was a bright yellow bird that was placed perfectly on its side. A piece of paper was tied around its neck. I didn’t want to read it, but I was too afraid of what could happen if I wasn’t aware of it. After all, no one fears the dark, they fear what could be in it. I pulled the string delicately away from its hollow body. The beige cutout fell into the bushes, and I scrambled to grab it. I brought it close to my face, savoring the moment of mystery. It read:
One strike
left. Leave your Verse.
They knew I wouldn’t listen. Even as the bird’s blinding feathers
shuffled through the wind and my shoes sunk in the mud, I was grounded. Even as
the clouds wept for me, my eyes saw so clearly ahead. I walked through the
empty trails that were so little visited as the Hands ran home to bend over and
complete mundane work. I wondered; did they ever feel the dirt under them
instead of concrete? Did they ever feel the rain soak their clothes on warm
afternoons? Did they ever-
“Identify
yourself!” a tall man yelled. He jumped before me and I stopped abruptly,
almost falling back onto the muddy trail. I had never been stopped by a Forger
before, but it was typical that I would be watched after being sent two birds.
“Hamala Gnedy,”
I sighed.
The Forger stepped back as he noticed the bird a few feet behind
me. He was clearly new; compassion wasn’t permitted for them. Everyone in the
Corridors called them Feet because they were ‘incompetent’. The children who
didn’t pass the entrance exams were taken to the Camps to learn to defend the
Hands. It wasn’t simply a reading and writing test, but one that tested the
freedom of the mind. Those who couldn’t water themselves down to fit their
standards were banished. I could see the pity in his eyes, and I remembered
exactly the type of person he was.
“You shouldn’t
be on the trails. If I tell them, you’ll get another one,” he said.
“It’s okay, you
can tell them. My third one is coming soon, anyway.”
“I wasn’t going
to- but you should take this more seriously. You know what paying your Dues
means, right?” he asked.
“Yes, I
know what it means, but I’ve already been paying my Dues every day of my life.
You’re paying for them right now. We pay for who we are, not what we
do,” I said frustratingly.
“At least we’re
here,” he said quietly.
I started to walk, and he followed
behind me.
“You know what
they call you, right? The Hands…” I said.
“I do, but I
know what I am. A Forger,” he said confidently. The end of the path neared, and
my Base was in sight.
I turned to him
through the mud and leaves.
“What’s your
real name? Do a favor for a dying person,” I said, and his eyes darted away
from my face, looking for an escape from his empathy.
“They never
gave me one. My parents, I mean. I’ve been a Forger all my life,” he replied,
and with that, he walked back into the woods, his brown heavy attire blending
into the atmosphere.
He knew that I knew more than his name; it was only a label, but I
knew his nature. Neither of us could forget what we sacrificed.
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