“Women and children first!” bellowed the captain. The round-up had finally started after months of rumors threatening to shred families apart. Many had already attempted rebellions and revolutions but the ever-growing military force was too powerful to overthrow. Anyone who hadn’t pledged their allegiance to the New Rule would be taken away for “Conditioning” as they called it, which if unsuccessful lead to execution. But you were given that choice. Men fought for their rights and their families, many being executed in the streets, while a special unit, gathered the women and children to be taken away. It was easier this way. When you took the families, and kept them alive but separated, Conditioning was quicker and more successful. If you tried to take the men first, most simply resisted to their last breath, as a point of honor, which did nothing for their cause, and left their families alone to be taken anyway.

Miriam was pulled and shoved around through the crowd, thanking God or whoever that she hadn’t had children, although at times she desperately wanted them. But a single, twenty-nine-year-old mother would do no good in this climate. She looked around to see helpless families huddling together, gripping onto each other probably for the last time, as homes and businesses burned in the background. Towering over them in the back of a truck bed stood the captain of the local militia barking orders at his subordinates. Miriam knew what was coming. She had heard stories about it in nearby towns and cities. The remaining news outlets were occasionally able to report on the roundups. They would ram them all into make-shift jail cells with the New Anthem playing several times throughout the day until you had no choice but to remember the words and tune. The New Law would be repeated and advocated by celebrities and politicians on TV screens in the background and one-by-one people would be taken to private rooms every day until they were Conditioned to support the party. It could take weeks before they even got to you and when they did, if you weren’t showing signs of giving in within a few days, you wouldn’t be seen again.

Miriam knew all this. She accepted it for what it was but refused to be a part of the process. She could never give in to the New Rule. She had fought against the upcoming government for years, as long as she safely could, but now there was no safety in anything other than submission. She knew what she had to do and was resigned to it. The cool Autumn day was turned hot amidst the sweltering body heat of the crowd. She felt a line of sweat trickle down her back. A young officer stood a few feet away, directing and bullying the crowd with pride. She noticed the pistol hung on his hip. She had only shot one a few times when she was a girl but thought she remembered enough. His safety would be off. The officers put safety aside and were always ready to fire.

As the crowd ebbed and flowed towards the busses and trucks that would be taking them, she shifted in his direction. He held out a baton, occasionally poking it into the crowd carelessly. She came up beside him and faked a trip, stumbling into him. He caught her without thinking. She pulled the pistol out of its holster and fired into his belly before he had time to realize what had happened. The crowd gasped in unison, ducking down and trying to get away from the gun fire.

The captain’s luminescent green eyes darted in her direction, widening as he realized what she was doing. Without a second thought, she fired the pistol at him. The first shot missed. She fired three more which buried themselves into his body. He collapsed over the side of the truck. The crowd was in complete hysteria. She knew her time was limited. She looked around for any other officers and upon hearing a shot in the distance, felt a bullet rip through her back and chest. The pain spread through her as her grip weakened. She dropped the pistol, ready to be done. She knew this wouldn’t change anything, really. Killing an officer and even a captain would at best slow down the local efforts but the government would still thrive. The men would be replaced and the New Rule would continue. But she would not simply give in or go down without a fight. She accepted her death, and rejoiced in the thought of taking two of them down with her. She dropped to her knees as another bullet pierced through her back and out her abdomen. The blood saturated her clothing and she collapsed, staring at all the feet running hysterically away from the scene. There had been rumors of people escaping into the forest. It wasn’t far from town. Maybe some of them will get away, she thought, and closed her eyes on this hopeful notion.

I’m so angry at the world. I just want to sleep. Six hours of sleep in the last three days. My eyelids hang heavy but my brain won’t shut off. I keep going over last Tuesday as if replaying it will change anything.

Patricia broke up with me over coffee and pastries. Totally out of the blue. She said I didn’t have any ambition or goals in life. Bitch. When I got to work, the pipes had burst from the freeze the night before, flooding the whole goddamn office. So the building was shut down and the client that had me on a timeclock to impress them, backed out because I couldn’t do what they needed fast enough. It wasn’t my fault, but I still lost ’em anyway.

Then, to top it all off, I get home after a drink at the bar - okay, four - and my landlord meets me at the door telling me he’s gotta jack the rent up another hundred bucks. I was barely making ends meet as it was. Guess I’ll have to cut back on the coffee in the mornings. Not that I need it now anyway.

That damn beeping at the neighbors' isn’t helping the situation. What is that anyway? It doesn’t ever stop. It’s like a smoke detector with a low battery, only it’s muffled through the walls so it’s not as harsh. But still annoying.

People keep telling me I need to have “a more positive outlook on life.” Fuck that. Life is always beating you up no matter what kind of outlook you have. I don’t think my outlook would’ve changed anything that happened last Tuesday.

I’m still trying to sleep. I know it’s completely pointless but I’m trying because there’s nothing better to do. I’ve tried reading. I don’t really like to read. I’ve tried with the TV off, and on. Crappy late night shows and all. Nothing’s worked.

I sit in the mostly dark room, with the TV flickering in the background, stewing about last Tuesday and all this bullshit I’ve had to put up with lately. I start to think about Patricia again. She really is a bitch. But it’d be kind of nice to have her here. I guess I miss her. I think about her being here next to me again and start to fade into a comfortable dream world. . .

My eyes fly open. That goddamn beeping from the neighbors’. I’ll never get any sleep.

Thoughts from a seventeen-year-old in a time of loss.

I sit next to the window in the warm sunlight, staring down at my hands nervously. There are tiny beads of sweat between the ridges of my fingerprints. It’s a nervousness that sparkles in the sunlight. Every bead of sweat beaming in the light like grains of sand on a shore. I am anxious. I don’t know what I should think or say or do. At this moment I am lost completely. I think about the past few days and replay in my head the incident that has just made us all so nervous.

The look on her face, the fear in her eyes. Sitting up in the bed trying to catch a breath but not knowing how. We all thought she was about to go, we knew it was going to happen. Then she went limp. She wasn’t breathing. Her jaw was set and her eyes were fixed in an unfocused, blank stare. We all thought she was gone. We thought that at that moment, ninety-one years of life had ended just like that. But then she moved slightly. The breath was building up again in her lungs. She went back to the same slow breathing, with that deep rattle that she had had for days. I suppose it wasn’t her time just yet.

Months ago we weren’t sure how much longer she could last, but she has. For the past few days, one of us has sat with her morning and night, just in case. She should have someone with her when she goes. Just to comfort her if nothing else.

People are calling. We are calling people. Other than the phone calls about her current status, it is quiet here. There’s Christmas music in the background. Death has not yet come but It is hanging around the hallways of the house and It greets you as you walk in the door. You can feel the quiet nervousness.

Until now I've never had to deal with anything like this. I’ve never seen someone die and I don’t especially want to. I have a strange feeling about all of this. I don’t know what it is, it’s something I’ve never felt before. Although it makes me sad, I’m not truly depressed. It’s an indescribable feeling. Someone will ask how I’m doing and how I’m handling all this, but there are no words for what I’m feeling. I’m aware of all the emotions in this house. So I stay quiet. I stay quiet even though this house is screaming with quiet emotions. An endless deafening noise that no one can hear.

I look out the window again. It’s a beautiful day despite the freeze that winter has brought. I listen to people in the bedroom talk to her and about her. Will it happen today? Tomorrow? On Christmas Eve or Christmas? I think the waiting is the hardest part. The idea that she could go at any minute, or that she will hang on for a few more days. Having no idea when she will leave us. Just waiting. Yes, I think that is the hardest part.

The anxiety of the wait.

Marty was dumbstruck when the billboard featuring the new Morgan Freeman movie landed in front of him. He saw the tornado coming and threw off the foam finger he’d had from the game, making his way toward the arcade with the dinosaur statue out front. A bathtub appeared, prompting him to climb in. This was no ordinary tub. He had to listen. He was saved.