I slouched my way through the streets, keeping my head down, partly because of the rain, partly because I want to be ignored. I glanced at some men huddled around a bin on fire, warming their hands and… drinking. I quickened my pace and pulled my hood further over my face, doing everything so I’m not noticed. Then I saw the police and heard the yells. I wanted to run but that would draw attention. Then I heard the noise of gun barrels hitting skin and then gun shots. Bile rose in my mouth. I gasped back tears. I ran up the steps to my house. The battered door creaked as I crept in. I leaned against it and took a deep breath and dried off my eyes. I tried to relax, I’m home but I still feel uneasy.
“Tammy?” I heard my mother yelling from our family room. She appeared in the doorway. “Oh Tammy, why do you always leave it so close to curfew. I was worried something had…” She hugged me close and did her usual sniff of my hair.
“I’m… I’m fine.” My voice broke and she backed up to look at me, her hands cupping my face. “They were these men… more like boys… and they were drinking something… and the police, they shot them… they shot them.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “Come on, tea is in the oven.”
That was the end of the conversation. We cant talk about this, because we never know who is listening. Our house isn’t really our house, we share it with four other families and no one can be trusted. I am not an enemy of the government, neither is my family, but any slight comment, anything seen to be a complaint could get you killed. People go missing every day, for any small crime. There’s so many rules. No drinking, no smoking, no freedom of speech, no leaving the house between 7pm and 8am, no meeting in groups in private, all punishable with death. The best thing to do is to keep your head down and don’t get into bother. The government is organised. Organisation is keeping this society together. Disorganisation is a threat. Violence is a threat. We have these rules to protect us all.
I walked into our room. My two brothers were sat by the fire and my mother serving out some sort of stew. I sat between them and quickly downed my food, scraping whatever was left up with the little bread we had. Then I regretted it. We have so little food, I should savour having it, but I never do. My stomach clenched and twisted, it’s so unused to being filled that it almost makes me ill.
We sat in silence, our faces blank and staring at the floor. It never used to be like this. There used to be some happiness in our lives. My brothers used to laugh and play, my mother used to chat about our days, because my father was still alive. Everything was better when father was still alive.
He used to wake us up on a morning. He would hug me and my brothers and kiss my mother goodbye before going to work at the factory. When he came back, he would always be cheery even though you could see how tired he was. He would bring me home scraps of paper for me to draw on and then used to act like they were works of art. I was always careful with the paper. It was a special privilege that I always treasured. He then would go and play trains with my brothers. My mother would sit and plait my hair while laughing at the silly jokes he made. Then he would tuck us up in bed and tell stories of people who lived underground. These were always in hushed tones, like it was our secret.
One day he said his usual goodbyes. I sat and waited for him to come back. I sat and waited at the little desk we had with my two crayons lined up in front of me, a red one and a yellow one, imagining what I could draw. But he didn’t come. Instead a man from the government, in a grey uniform, came to the door, had a quiet word with my mother and left. There had been an uprising at the factory. My father was shot. We were expected not to grieve. He was an enemy of the state and if we cried or showed any emotion, we would be the same. Now my desk and crayons are long gone and I still have never cried. I never thought my father would be a traitor. It changed my life.
Now we live in fear. We are careful with our words and don’t draw attention to ourselves. We don’t want to lose any more of our family. We never relax, one little mistake can get us killed. Everything is harder now, my mother’s smile lines turned into deep wrinkles furrowed into her skin. She has become thin, too thin, she always gives my brothers extra food. She once did it to me but I started noticing and told her to stop, but she still does not eat enough. I worry about her. She does not want to see her children starve, but I don’t want to see her starve either.
Without my father’s job, money and food were scarce. We never had loads of money, just enough. My mother had to get a job at the laundrette. Now she is tired all the time and her hands are often rubbed red raw. I got a job to help as soon as I turned sixteen at the factory, but it is still hard.
Once we had finished eating, which didn’t take long, I gathered up the plates and took them into our shared kitchen to wash up. Mrs Nelson from upstairs was stood at the sink so I waited. She also works at the factory to run the machines, but she has never said a word to me. I watched as her hands scrubbed the grease stains from a pan. She was always so precise, that’s what makes her good at her job. She is quiet, wont cause trouble and stays out of the way; the perfect employee; the perfect supporter of the government. Some would see this as a cause for hatred, but I only feel wariness.
She quickly gathered up her pots and turned to walk out the room. She gave me a slight nod in acknowledgement as I move to the sink. The water was cold and I didn’t want to wait to heat it, so I scrubbed until my hands were blue. When I returned to our room the fire was still lit, but it was dimming. I stood beside it to warm my hands. My mother was already asleep in the corner. I kneeled next to her and pulled the blanket over her, to stop her from feeling the chill. I smiled as she curled up.
“Tammy? Will you play with us?” Caleb was stood next to me tugging at my shirt. “Please will you play with us?”
“No us, you. You want her to play with you.” James sat in the corner with his school work. “I’m too old for games.”
I felt a pang in my chest. He was still so young, but now he is working so hard. He has become distant, so determined to study. He wants to be better. He doesn’t want to leave school. He has took it upon him to get us out of here; to stop us from struggling and to live a better life. I used to want the same. I thought if I could be well-educated everything could change. Then I was forced to leave school, to go to work, so we had money. He is just like me and I don’t want him to have that much responsibility and I swear I will let him stay in school. I will do anything to keep him in school. To leave school early is giving up. If you leave school you will live in the slums for the rest of your life, earning little money. Only the desperate leave, but so many are so desperate, only the few privileged get to finish their education. I will keep him in school.
“Come on Caleb, James is busy, but I will play with you.” I saw his face light up, but then his eyes dropped and he bit his lip. “What do you want to play?”
“I want James to play too.” Now his lip was sticking out. “It’s boring without James.”
“Hmm… I have an idea.” I swooped in and picked him up, spinning him around and tickling till he burst into a fit of giggles. “Shh, shh, don’t be waking mother up.” I tried to ask stern but couldn’t help but smile. I saw James roll his eyes, but I could also see the slight smile on his face.
I played imaginary games with Caleb while James watched and occasionally made a snide comment. But I could see how happy this made Caleb. It’s like his eyes couldn’t see this dingy room anymore. He was in his own little world. He could just forget all this and disappear into a world of adventures and wonders. Slowly I could see his eyes begin to droop and the yawns became more frequent. Eventually I was tucking him into bed.
“Don’t stay up too late, James.” I dimmed the lights so only James’ candle lit the room. “You need to be up early tomorrow.”