3 Hours in the city. 2 sisters. 1 chance. 0 room for secrets...right? A dystopian story. |
“Welcome to The Unitary.” He says as we walk into a living room area, or maybe what used to be a living room. Couches have been pushed up against walls, tables have been overturned, and there’s not a TV in sight. “So, Lucia’s little sister, you got a name?” “Aurora.” “Well, Aurora, welcome to the revolution. You do realize that your so-called daddy is actively killing people, right?” “No. He’s trying to get America back in order. He’s helping people.” He laughs, a sharp and grating sound, and motions for me to follow him. “Lucia, stay here. I need to show her something.” He escorts me to another room, hand on my back like he thinks I’m going to bolt. “This is our medical room. Anyone who needs serious medical attention ends up here, or shows up dead. Right now, we have a couple of bombing victims.” “Where did the bombs come from? My father would never-.” He throws the door open. Three people lay on makeshift beds. Their flesh is so charred with soot and burns that I can’t see any distinguishing features. None of them move, and the stench of burning flesh makes me gag. “Oh, no. They’re dead.” The boy says. “Killed by the bombs that your father set off.” I stand in shocked silence. Father would never do such a thing. He leads me back to Lucia, who looks mildly concerned. “Gabe, what’d you do to her?” “I didn’t do anything. I showed her the truth, just like I showed you the truth.” She nods, and Gabe turns to me. “I’m Gabriel. Don’t call me Gabe. Only my friends call me that, okay?” “Alright.” I manage, my throat closing up. “Okay.” Three hours in the city, she said. Only three hours. |