Chapter 1
The blaring alarm woke me up. It’s the same god-awful alarm we wake up to every morning. We only have seven minutes to get ready. We will put on our rags, wash our faces in the community water, and head to our assigned factories. The Sentries will be watching over us. They will examine us before we work, blow their rusty whistle, and the machines will start. They will rattle and fill the room with discouragement. We are watched, we are monitored, and we can’t escape. There is word of an alternate parallel where everything is good. Right now anything good sounds implausible, but we can hope.

I wake up my boarding partner, Emlay. She’s one of the youngest here with her age being nine. Her hair is short, blonde, and very curly. The curls wrap around each other most of the time. Her nails are short and there is dirt encrusted in her cuticles. She is too young to work in a factory so she works for The Dictator’s minions doing all of the dirty work. She doesn’t get paid, like the rest of us. We are expected to work for this land. To make sure the land is able to reach its full potential, as The Dictator says.

I go out to our deck, which really isn’t a deck. Boards of wood are extended from our shack. There is little room for movement. I pick up our work clothes that are drying on a neighboring branch. They feel like worn leather. They are tattered and worn. Emlay’s is sun-beaten and mine continues to smell of machine. I walk back inside and Emlay is awake. She hands me a small bowl of mush in exchange for her clothes. She walks very few steps to our ‘bedroom’ and changes.

“You should be getting ready too, Nyla. You haven’t much time to eat.” She pulled her top over her head. It was loose and exposed her stomach.

“I know. I know.”

I put my bowl of mush down and changed into my work clothes. Our seven minutes were almost up. I could feel the tension in the air. The last minutes of freedom in the morning were the worst. You could sense the despair and anger. You could sense the hatred toward The Dictator. Nobody wanted to be here.

I finished getting dressed. My long auburn hair was knotted and tangled. I haven’t brushed my hair in a week. There wasn’t time to. My work clothing was very different from Emlay’s. I am to wear a black long sleeved shirt. The shirt has many rips in it and the seems are fraying at the edges. I am to wear loose grey pants. They feel like they were made from a burlap sac and then dyed. I leave my hair down.

“Time to go. Time to go. We must be leaving now!”

I opened the door for Emlay. We made our way to the gathering area to say hello to a few friends and then we were off to work. I headed to the right; a run-down factory was waiting to welcome me.
I got in my usual line outside of the factory. We were to look straight ahead while we were being inspected. The same young man inspected us everyday. He looked about my age. Something in his eyes made me sense he didn’t want to be here either. He looked almost apologetic. His eyes are screaming at me. He blew his whistle and the machines grumbled.

We were led into the factory and told to head to our usual spots. I walked past the conveyer belt, turned right, and walked a few steps. I was now in front of my workstation. Colourful fabrics stood out in such a dark place. The blue and green pastels were my favorite. They seemed to dance through the machines, unlike the other colours, which were forced through. The blue and greens went through with ease and grace. I couldn’t dare to sneak a snip of fabric back to our shack, though. That would lead to consequences from The Dictator. Nobody knows what the consequences are which fills us with even more fright.

I continue to feed the fabrics through the machine. I make little contact with the machine and the people who surround me. We all work in silent obedience. I remember when I was first introduced to this factory. It was two years ago. I had been instructed to ‘shadow’ a boy for a day before he was to be given over to The Dictator for his consequences. We didn’t talk. He had used hand gesture to show how to place the fabric in the machine and what to do when the fabric ran out. The Sentry had kept passing us, which made me very nervous. At the end of that day I was brought to The Dictator. It had been the only time I had seen him and hopefully the last. He was a rather younger man. My guess is that he was in his 30s. He was very tall and skinny. He wore very elaborate clothing. It was a black jacket with many pins. The pins all had a different symbol on them that I was not able to make out. His pants were tight and were also black. There was a white stripe on the outside of right thigh.

“Common 739. Satisfactory work today. I expect more. Board 73.”

I had never heard such a booming voice in my life. I remember shaking uncontrollably while being directed toward my ‘board’ as The Dictator called it.
---
The day was finally coming to an end. The machine was stopped and I stood in place, facing the barren metal wall. I waited until the Sentry dismissed me. I was headed to the gathering area where I received dinner for Emlay and I. The sun was setting as I placed our meal in the basket. Each shack had a pulley to send food up and dishes down. I climbed the stairs leading to the shack. Emlay still had fifteen minutes left in her workday. She would be home by the time the last rays of sun were in the sky. I set our meals on the small table provided for us. I waited for her arrival.

The sunset had been over for approximately ten minutes and Emlay still wasn’t home. A million thoughts raced through my head. She could have been recruited for permanent work for The Dictator, although this rarely happens. She may have disobeyed the law unintentionally and she has to pay the consequence. Maybe she just lost her way. I continued to wait for her. My meal was still untouched.












































Chapter 2
There is nothing better than getting up at six AM for inspection. I’m kidding, of course. Being a sentry isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, really. I suppose you’re better off than the workers, but it’s still not an easy job. I’m standing in the line, waiting on the cue to be dismissed to go to our jobs. We’d already eaten our morning meal- bread and butter and mush with raisin (not exactly five stars, but far better than what the Commons get).
The Dictator’s wife inspects us as she walks by, occasionally poking at someone who could be suspicious. She’s taller than I am, with long blonde hair and dull, dark eyes. She walks past me without a second look, and the only noise is her shoes clicking on the cement floor. Once she inspects every last Sentry, she nods and gestures us to our posts. The morning alarm for the Commons to wake up blares off and I’m left with seven minutes of waiting for their arrival.
I stand waiting until finally, I see them all coming. I don’t make eye contact for authoritative reasons and also because I’m not sure how well I could handle looking at their tortured faces or starving bodies.
The textile machines are humming with their manual labor and with the mechanisms inside the actual machine. I walk around and inspect their work. Everyone is doing fairly well, and it’s slightly amusing to see how they get nervous when they can tell I’m behind them. I don’t enjoy intimidating them, it’s just slightly amusing and I suppose it keeps me somewhat occupied.
After a long day, a bell chimes and I dismiss them one by one. One girl, tall and thin, with pretty auburn hair, I regard with curiosity. She doesn’t seem as intimidated and it looks like she has better things to do than be here. I dismiss her, staring as she walks out.
Once all the workers are gone, I head back to the Sentry head quarters. It’s loud in there, and over in a far corner, are some of my friends (moreover, acquaintances) are having fun with one of the servant girls. I slink over there and join them.
It’s a little girl, who I know I’ve seen before. She looks terrified, which makes me smile with a sort of droll amusement.
“What’s happening here?” I ask.
“This little wench was taking some of the food,” answers one of my friends, pushing the little girl back into the wall. The little girl closes her eyes for a moment, but doesn’t cry.
“I harvested it!” she protests meekly. “In all fairness and due respect, I don’t think it would be sensible to say that I don’t deserve just to take a few vegetables.”
“That’s stealing, you’re stealing from us,” I say in a strong, unforgiving voice. “Stealing has consequences, you know.” I can feel a sick smile on my face.
“Yes,” echoed a Sentry to my right (his name is Oliver). “Consequences.”
We both shared in a smile of disturbing pleasure. “You know,” I say. “I’m not sure how the dictator is going to feel about this.”
The little girl started shaking. “No, please!” she cries. “Don’t tell him, please! I’ll do anything!”
I feel a little bad when the girl begins to cry. After all, she looks like she’s only eight or nine.
Before we can go any further with our game of cat and mouse, the bell rings for our afternoon meal. Me and the other Sentries turn briskly turn our attention to the little girl, who looks frightened and bewildered.
“Go wait outside,” says one of them.
“Don’t even think about leaving,” I snarl.
“Or,” continues Oliver. “Or there will undoubtedly be consequences.” At that, the little girl rushes outside, and I’m sure she is waiting there.
At the dinner table, we are served a sort of soup, which is not terrible, and also bread and some cheese.
The dining hall is ornate and elaborate. The floors are carpeted in red and the walls are decorated with The Dictator’s seals and many plaques and treasures. The chairs are wooden with velvet seat cushions and the tablecloth is a deep maroon. The room is buzzing with the chatting of the Sentries until the dictator walks in. His uniform is brilliant, and our uniforms are loosely based off of his: Tight and all black, decorated with pins with many different meanings, but none as meaningful and powerful as the pins of the Dictator. We all had a stripe on our right leg indicating our duty (mine was red) and power. We had combat boots that came up to our knees, their purpose mainly to intimidate the Commons and we all had a tattoo of a star on the wrist of our right hand to assure that we were minions of the Dictator.
He sat down and we all lowered our heads in respect. He said no words and we waited until he was finished eating to eat on our own. When he got back up, we all bowed again and waited until he was out of sight to begin talking again.
As I was eating, I began to feel a little bad for the little girl, who was more than likely still outside now. At least thirty minutes had passed.
Oliver leaned closer to me. “What should we do to that little girl?” he asked.
“Chase her away?” I offered.
“Good enough,” he nodded as she shoveled more soup into his mouth.
I suppose I would let her keep the vegetables, too.

More than an hour had passed when we were finished eating and it was terribly dark outside. Oliver and I (as well as the other Sentry whose name I did not know) snuck outside.
Stealthily, we peered at the little girl, who was huddled on the ground shivering and crying in despair. The sight gave me chills, but I didn’t let it bother me.
We counted to three and then charged at the little girl, yelling.
“Get out of here, you wench!” we snarled.
The little girl, scared out of her wits, leaped off of the ground and began running out of fear. We chased her for a minute or so, and I could hear her crying. When we stopped running, she turned around from a distance.
“I don’t even want your vegetables any more, you filthy pigs!” she cursed, her voice strained from trying to hold back her tears. From there, she turned back and began running back to her house.





Chapter 3
After some time, Emlay had finally returned home. Our meals were cold but we still ate them in little time.

“Why were you tardy coming home?” I asked with great curiosity.

“I’m sick and tired of eating mush. I work in the field for The Dictator. I pick HIS vegetables and get nothing in return. I didn’t even want to come here! While harvesting the crops, I tried to sneak some vegetables. I was on my way back from the field when a Sentry asked what I was doing. I stayed quiet and didn’t look at him. He pushed me into a wall and the vegetables dropped to the ground. He called one of his friends over and explained to him what was going on. I was frightened. They made me wait at the temple entrance until they were done with their meal. I had to wait for an hour and a half. I thought of going home but they threatened to send me to The Dictator if I tried to flee. Finally they came out and they just chased me. I ran and told them that I didn’t want their vegetables, anyways.” She inhaled a deep breath after that.

“You really need to start being more careful, Emlay. You could have had big consequences. You should be thankful for what those Sentries did.”

“I know.” She hunched over in her small sleeping plot. I could tell that she understood but I had to make sure, as it was part of my job to raise her. “I did find something, though.”

“Hmm?”

“Yes. When I was running, I tripped. I didn’t know what I had tripped over because it was solid and hollow sounding. I made sure that I was not seen and searched the ground. I came across this shiny bulge in the ground. It was a matte gold colour. I knocked on it twice but I couldn’t tell much from that. It did sound hollow and…”

There was a knock at the door with sudden entry.

“Routine check. Common 739 and Common 952 should be residing here.”

He hadn’t looked at our faces yet. He was still occupied with the list. Emlay and I were frightened at how much the Sentry had heard of our conversation. A couple of awkward seconds had passed and the guard looked up. He looked a little surprised and Emlay did as well.

“I hope you two weren’t dining on any vegetables tonight. And what is this I hear about a golden and hollow port?” His words stung us.

“Ahh. Um. We just. It was. Nothing. Sir. I mean Sentry. Er. Um. Sir Sentry.” My mouth and my brain were detached. The correct thoughts were there but the communication part lacked.

“That’s what I thought. Off to bed. You must work your all tomorrow. If I notice any more goofing off by you two, then you will be scheduled to work Saturdays for the next month and a half and I will report you to The Dictator.”

With that, the Sentry had decided to leave. He brutally shut the door behind him, clanking his tall leather boots on the way out. Although he was tall and skinny, he had power. There was something about the way he left, though, that made it seem like he wanted to stay and hear what we had to say. Once again, there was a certain sparkle in his eyes that said differently than the rest of him.

Emlay and I did go to bed after that. We couldn’t control our minds. We kept thinking of what the golden port, as we now decided to call it, could lead. It could lead to ‘the land of milk and honey’ that many here talk about wishingly. It could lead to a field of wheat, corn, vegetables, or barley. It could lead to the alternate parallel for all we know. The possibilities were endless and that fact kept gnawing at my brain. I need to figure out where it leads. I couldn’t help thinking the thought over and over in my mind. The only problem was how I would get the portal to open. There is no way I can make tools, there just isn’t enough time, Stealing would be risky with a very high chance of being caught by a Sentry, which means punishment by The Dictator. The last idea was that I could see if I even needed tools to open it. Maybe all I need to do is find a button and woosh the magic door is open.

I decided to go with the third idea and scope the area first. I could evaluate the area, which I’m sure is just like the rest of ‘town, and see what would be needed. I faded into sleep with thoughts about the alternate parallel and what it would hold for us. Would there be other people there? If so, do they know about the portal? What If our worlds are the exact same?
~~~
There was something different in the air the next morning. The alarm still sang its off key tune, the end of freedom was still as dreadful as every other morning was, but today the people seemed even more distraught than ever. Maybe it was because I knew there might be an escape. Maybe it was because I knew about something that the others didn’t.

I trudged through the workday as usual, making less and less contact than before. There was another thing that was unusual about the beginning of my day. When I walked to my station, as I do every morning, the Sentry in charge of our working block kept looking at me. He was the same Sentry that scolded Emlay and I last night.

“Common 739, I need to speak to you for a moment. Common 739.”

The machines had become much more quiet. As I walked toward the Sentry, people were giving me looks full of sorrow. My legs were shaking and it was tough for me to walk to the front of the room.