Edit | #Wattys2016

Twenty Eight

After a quick shower and some food and much-needed medication, I'm seated cross-legged in the main room of the pod, seated on a crate that—thankfully—doesn't have some draft hidden in or behind it.

I don't think I'd be able to handle it.

The drafts have been herded to another section of the pod, leaving me alone with Whisper. I can't get my mind off them, however, and it hurts to no end, to know that they're just so young, but they've endured so much pain, so much horror in their lives.

Edit needs to stop.

"So let's get this straight. I need an ally, someone who has access to the Edit system to get into the building. I need help to let the voices of those kids—" Whisper waves her hands towards a sealed door at this—"be heard. I need to let people hear my voice."

I nod in agreement. I don't think anything can be more powerful and resounding and impactful as the voices of the drafts. They've been hidden for so long, trapped in Rehabilitation or the Black Hole.

It's time they rise.

When we're down on the ground, broken and bruised and hurt and torn and used, I think speaking up, letting the world know how much pain you're in, can help, although it can be confusing, especially when you don't know exactly what to do, how to fix the situation, and there's almost no one out there for you.

People call that despondency. I call it a learning experience, something you can tap on to become stronger.

Edit makes me stronger; it doesn't tear me down, hurt me or break me. I'm still going to be me until the end. I'm not going to change, because I have the flame of hope, of courage, of uniqueness in me.

It's never going to go out. It's something valuable I learnt after Edit destroyed my life, and I decided to move on, to learn to brave the storms.

And that's brought me far.

"But the problem is that no one knows who we are, and there's no point, basically. We're the underbelly of society, scarred and ugly and useless to others." Whisper's eyes grow darker as she takes in this fact.

She's right. The people who see it would go mad. They'll hold riots. Fights. War.

Carmen's words echo in my head. "In a war, people die."

Sacrifices will be made.

"You're not...draft-looking, though," I say, raising my eyebrows, pretty surprised.

Whisper laughs bitterly. "You wouldn't want to see me for me."

"But that's what Edit's doing to you! Whisper, you've been hiding behind this façade, this curtain, this veil for too long, don't you think? You shouldn't let Edit get their way. That's what I'm here for." I argue.

"You know nothing about me," Whisper snaps, her voice cold and sharp, a sword piercing my heart.

"I tried to be perfect, and I wanted to be the best. Look where's it's taken me. I have no choice, Amber. I can't just wake up every morning and look at myself, the real me, and think, hey, you don't look that bad. I can't, but you'll never understand that, so stop pretending that you know every blasted thing on this planet!"

My throat feels dry, and something invisible is stuck in it, making it hard to breathe.

Whisper takes a staggering breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. It's just a natural reaction after...everything."

"I get it," my voice comes out choked and hoarse as tears start to burn the back of my eyes.

I attempt to push away the thoughts that tell me that Whisper is right. All along, I've been trying to act like a smart alec.