Ezra
There's something calm about intense tragedy.
I watched a documentary once in the records' office of our underground base about the Indian Ocean Tsumani in the year 2004. Known still today, almost fifty years later, as the worst tsunami in history, it was caused by a 9.0 magnitude earthquake over three thousand miles off the coast of Africa. I remember sitting and watching the film play out on the display screen, knowing exactly what was coming, and yet, with the knowledge that I couldn't do anything, just sitting and watching.
If I had been there, in 2004, would I have panicked and ran? Would I have felt the ground shaking under me? Would there have been a tiny piece of me that knew something wasn't right in that day? If I had known it would be my last day, would anything have been different?
I've seen victims waiting on the stage to be executed. I've witnessed hysterical sobbing, begging, pleading, and fainting. Mothers have reached for children watching in the crowd; fathers have turn their heads away so they don't have to look in their families eyes one last time.
Yet, I've also seen steely faces, ready to greet death like an old friend. I've seen resolve, acceptance, rage, and rebellion.
It's clear to me that people handle their impending death differently--like a stamp deep in their soul that makes them unique.
So, had I been sitting on a cliffside, watching the killer waves coming towards the African shore with all the speed of a bullet train, how would I have reacted? I've never been that close to death--close enough to taste it on the back of my tongue and feel it pressing on my neck like a coarse, braided noose.
Until now.
Jordyn clings to my arm as the room continues to shake around us. The cameras on the wall go black one by one, until there's only a faint light from one to illuminate the room. I stare at the screen that shows a skyview of The Island, the panic swelling in my chest like a tsunami, pinning me to the ground.
"Ezra," Jordyn says softly.
I close my mouth and swallow back the bile that had risen up. We're going to be buried alive. There's no chance we can make it when we are hunkered down in an underground room. Water alone can kill two hundred thirty thousand innocent civilians. What makes us special enough to survive a cave-in?
"Ezra!" Jordyn snaps, shaking my arm.
I glance over at her and suck in air through my nose.
"What?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Can she see the cracks spreading under my solid surface?
"We can't just stand here," she says, gently, like I might crumble. "We have to move Sam somewhere safe."
"There is no where safe, Jordyn. We are in a tomb."
She scowls at the bitter tone in my voice.
"Under the desks." She points to the other side of room where a small concrete ledge juts out from the wall. "Maybe the concrete would be strong enough to withstand the cave-in."
"Any proof that would actually work?" I ask bitterly.
"I have hope, Ezra."
"Hope is a fragile thing that manifests in the mind of desperate people."
Jordyn's face softens.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Nowhere. I said it." It might as well be my life motto.
Jordyn thinks for a minute while chewing on the inside of her cheek.
"I remembered that," she says, looking down at Sam. "When I was alone and looking for him. It's so pessimistic."
YOU ARE READING
The Island
Science Fiction"This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apar...
