Yarrow

IIII - The Grass Is Always Greener

Bellamy is next to me on the sofa — Gedeon and Annaliese left about an hour prior — and I'm admittedly in a crummy mood. To say I'm miffed would be an extraordinary understatement.
My parents' death was no accident.
I don't like this. This pang of sorrow and regret... knowing that I could have prevented this. Maybe not in the moment because I didn't know anything. But just knowing that if I'd asked them to stay home that day, they wouldn't be dead —it's almost sickening. No, it is sickening. I don't like this. Not at all.
I guess you could say Bellamy's like a brother to me — and Annaliese a sister. Bellamy is one of the only people who knows me better than I do. And in these cases, it really shows. He's been the one who's helped me through my parents' death. He's the reason I'm still here. And somehow he's managed to pull through again today. He always does.
I can't help but bumbarb myself with questions: why did they set the trade house on fire? Why did they have my picture there? How did they get that picture — which I don't even remember going in for? However, I only say one out loud,
"What am I supposed to do?"
My voice is cracking and I feel as though I'm ready to throw up.
Bellamy doesn't answer verbally. Instead he wraps his arm around my shoulder; which is more comforting, to be truthful. Where would I be without him?
It still hasn't quite sunk in that by this time tomorrow, I'll be out of Selum. But if I'm being honest, I'm perfectly fine with it. Actually, I'm more than fine with it. I'm glad. I want out of this place. Because maybe I can finally escape this grief. I want nothing to do with Cunning — not anymore. I can't seem to shake the thoughts or the questions. What had possessed Cunning to kill all those people? My parents included. What was going on in his head to drive him to arson? I'm only assuming that it's Cunning's doing, but truthly, I can't be sure. And now that I think of it, the more I realise that it could be anyone. I really don't have proof to decide whose idea it was. But the likelihood of it being Cunning seems offly high.

Morning turns to noon and noon turns to afternoon, and before I know it, I'm at gedeon's dwelling with him, Annaliese, and Bellamy; we're getting our things together for our... departure — which is set for the coming morning.
The council has ever so kindly gifted us some sort of uniforms. Because we couldn't have all the dead bodies thinking we're complete outsiders, now could we? The boys have a very dark, charcoal grey — or maybe black, I really can't tell — short sleeve shirt. It's tight and the collar is a square like shape that stops right at the collar bone. There's a wavy pattern on it and it matches the shorts, which are the same colour, and are somewhat tight (though not terribly), and they go just above the knee.
For Annaliese, there's the same pattern and colour, and for the most part everything's the same. But the shorts are a bit tighter and not quite as long and the collar is a turtle neck with a little notch cut out in the front. The shoes are the same for all of us and only differ in size — a pair of tight, almost stretchy, boots. They're also black and share the same wavy pattern as the shirt and shorts. We each have a belt that's light grey in colour (which matches the wave like patterns on the rest of the clothing) and there are loops that look like they would be useful for carabiners. They don't look strong enough to carry game, though.
"Do we know exactly what we're bringing?" I inquire as I continue analysing the uniforms.
"I think so," Annaliese states.
We need food, weapons, and warmer clothing. Those are my main concerns. The uniforms obviously won't be useful in the cold — and winter isn't too far around the corner — however, it seems like they'd dry quickly if they were to get wet. The ornate material is meshy and flexible. It's currently November and while it's still warm enough in the day, the nights keep getting colder — and soon the daylight hours will follow its counterpart's footsteps.
On a similar note, a realisation sparks and sets in: day and night. Polar opposites. What is, isnt; like the constant passing of time. 1:24, 24:1, 0:24. They weren't ratios, but I was on the right track with the possible representation of time... of a clock. Time: one of the biggest mysteries — which I suppose you could deem a hoax. Because almost like a circle, there is no beginning and there is no end. All we can settle with is that it just... is. But what did any of this have to do with the oppression? Or the arson? Or the wall? What does Cunning have going behind the scenes? And how were my parents — or anyone in the Trade House — connected? What's their influence?
Whatever it is, I'm more than likely to find answers when we cross that wall. Whatever it is Cunning's hiding, it's out there. But it can't be obvious or he wouldn't send people out there in the first place. Not unless something's — or quite probably someone — waiting out there for us. Maybe the refugee's are all part of this. But in every perspective I look, something isn't right. Nothing adds up. It's possible that all the information is outside the wall, it could be possible that it's all inside the wall, and it could be a mix of both — some clues inside and outside of Selum. But I'm missing something here. Why would he send people out of Selum if there was evidence they could find (intentionally or unintentionally)? Does he believe the security is so good that the knowledge could never spread to those on the inside? Or is he slowly sending more and more away to cover it all up? I run into dead end after dead end until I simply ask myself, why? Why is he doing this? I'm not sure how much time I have to figure that out.

That evening we go our separate ways, Gedeon stays and the rest of us go to our own dwellings, taking our uniforms with us. We've packed a small backpack for each of us with food, water, thin, but waterproof, sleeping bags, a coat and a mac, long waterproof trousers or anything we could find that would protect us from the cold, some herbs from Annaliese, and weapons. We've decided we'll all smuggle other necessities since they never actually check you to see what else you have. They open the backpacks but they don't actually look through them, and they don't pat you down. The plan is that Bellamy will have his sword and backpack, Annaliese her bow and backpack, Gedeon will take my sword since it's one weapon per person, and we'll stash his knives at the bottom of his backpacks so they don't see them.
I grab the key from its hiding place, in the oil lantern which hangs from the wall; it has a latch to light it, but we never do, and I open the door before returning it to the lantern. When I step in the house it's silent — Mae must be asleep already. Tomorrow will be the last time I'll see her.... I really do hope she does well for herself as a hunter. I had Gedeon talk to the group and they agreed to take her on. I bet she'd do well with a bow.
I quietly stride through the hallway until I get to my bedroom and as soon as I lay down I'm asleep. When I wake up, the sun is just barely over the horizon. I savour the moment for a good thirty minutes — the last time I'll wake up in this bed. The last time I'll see this view. The trees, the sky, everything.
It's a crisp morning; the grass, trees, bushes, and so on, are coated with a layer of frost which insinuates that our uniforms will certainly not be warm enough. The sky is boringly covered by a blanket of white clouds that stretched all the way across the sky — as far as the eye can see. I push myself to sit up and shake as much of the drowsiness as I can, but even so, my eyes are heavy and I'm nauseated. The house is dead silent as I walk through the kitchen, searching for anything I could eat before the event that was my farewell party. I'm surprised I got any sleep at all, but not so surprised that I don't feel any better after waking. If anything I feel more tired.
I hear footsteps coming from behind me and when I turn around, I see it's Mae. She looks sleep deprived. This will be one of the very last times I'll ever get the chance to see her.
"Good morning," I say as I give up looking for food — we don't have much, and I'm not taking it away from Mae. It's all she has.
"Don't think you're leaving without getting something to eat. You can take care of yourself for one minute, Yarrow," Mae states harshly as she gets something from the ice box and puts it on to boil. She's scared. She's genuinely scared to lose me. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified for the same reason.
She hands me a bowl of soup with chives, rabbit, and carrots. The broth is warm and soothing to my throat and it leaves a nice aftertaste. I thank her before scooping more into my mouth and when I'm finished, I quickly wash the bowl and leave it to dry on the countertop. The sun has mostly risen by now, but the clouds still linger, so it's hard to tell exactly what time it is without looking at the clock — which tells me it's half seven. I should be meeting with the others soon.
I turn to Mae, who's sitting at the table and staring blankly at the grooves in the wood, and I sit next to her. She grabs hold of my hands and looks up — tears fall down her cheeks and hit the table; leaving marks on the surface and setting a depressed tension. Mae speaks under her breath,
"I have something for you."
She stands from the table and heads toward her bedroom; when she comes back she has a silver chain held tightly in her hand. It's a necklace, with two circular pendants attached. She sits in the sale seat and opens her hand, with the necklace resting on her palm. I can see writing now. On one of the pendants, it reads,