Brick And Bone

I remember the stories my father used to tell me about before the wall was built. He said they came with promises of trade and growth, but all they did was take our young, promising great riches, and leaving us barren. Then they attacked, trying to destroy what we had left. We fought back and eventually won, so we built the wall brick by brick to protect us from them, all of them.

I always thought I would grow up and be just like my father, work as the wall keeper making repairs and keeping our city safe, but these past few years I have been stricken by a longing for more, the desire to see what lies beyond the wall. All I know is danger and death, but after so many years, things must have changed. It can’t be all bad out there. As I sit up here at my post, keeping watch, I can't see anything. The landscape stretches to the horizon and then vanishes into nothing. Whatever once occupied these lands has left, and we are what remains. I wonder at times if the stories that have been sewn into our city, into our lives, were ever true. Could we have been the aggressors? Did we attack or betray those who were trying to show us a better life? My father always says that those kinds of ideas are dangerous to have because the unknown is just that, unknown and uncertain, and when lives are at stake, uncertainty is a luxury we cannot afford.

I only have another hour up on the wall, and then I don’t need to come back again till next week. I switched to patrolling the city for a couple of days each week because sitting up here makes me want to break through the gate and run to the horizon. If the darn thing would even open, I asked my father when the last time the gate was opened, and he said he honestly couldn’t remember. They built it in hopes of exploring one day, but that day never came. The elders didn’t think it was safe, and the longer the gate stayed closed, the more the rust crept onto its surface, spreading like the fear the elders created, a testament to the town’s paralysis.

The sun started to set, which signalled the end of my stay on the wall. I slowly rose, threw one more glance over my shoulder, feeling the longing for change tugging at my core and went to open the door that descended to the guards’ station. Once my hand touched the door handle, the ground began to shake. I knew it was an earthquake, so I took cover and held on. It was violent, and I could feel the wall shift beneath my feet. Bricks cracked and fell in every direction, as if the earth was opening beneath our city to eternal darkness. I waited and prayed that everyone was safe, that this would end soon enough, and we would remain standing as we had for more than eighty years. When the earth stopped moving, I got up and saw the dust cloud hanging in the air covering the city in a veil.

I quickly tore a piece of cloth from my sleeve and wrapped it around my mouth as I descended the stairs. Once outside on the ground, the dust found every way into my lungs, and I saw people coughing and trying their best to take cover. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me home to my parents and saw the damage the earthquake had done, but all the walls remained intact. I knew the elders would praise our resilience, but I feared that if this cloud did not disperse, these walls would become our coffin.

My parents were outside their house talking to neighbours, and helping some find coverings so the dust would not reach their lungs.

”What can I do to help?” I asked my mother.

”We need sheets cut up and soaked in water; the dust is fine and is getting through everything.

” I went inside our house and helped my father rip up all the sheets we had, soaking them in water. We took all the bundles back outside to give them to my mother. As the crowd began putting them on, we all saw the black layer of soot forming on the crisp white cloths. This wasn’t just dust from the wall; this was something else, something far worse.

I continued helping my mother as best I could, as one of the few doctors in our community, she was an incredible asset. Her father had taught her everything he knew, and she only expanded that knowledge over the years. She was a quick thinker and able to adapt to any crisis within minutes. I could see her analyzing every person watching their eyes and checking their pulse, and she glanced at me a few times, because even though she had to care for the community, I was still her son.

She soon realized that we were in a lot more trouble than she had originally thought. I could see her eyes shifting as she realized something we did not.

”What is it, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to slow my breathing.

”This isn’t dust, this is something else,” she said. She continued helping people until she noticed a young boy coming over with his mother, coughing up blood.

”How long has he been outside?” she asked his mother.

”He’s been playing outside all afternoon, but we live by the wall, and the dust came from there while he was outside. Is he going to be alright? We came as fast as we could when we heard you were treating people here.

”I need to bring him inside and listen to his lungs. When did he start coughing up blood?”

”We went inside and waited maybe an hour or so, but his lungs have never been great, that’s why he was outside. The fresh air helps him.” My mother took them inside and started examining the boy before turning to me.

”I need you to tell everyone to get back inside. Anyone who does not have a mask needs one immediately. Soak it in water. Go and tell everyone you can, and hurry, the longer people are in it, the more damage it will do.”

I ran down the street, telling anyone I saw to get back inside and to do what my mother said. At least they listened when I told them she had sent me to deliver the message. As I ran to the city center to try to get onto the city’s intercom, I heard the council members talking outside the office about the dust. Through hushed voices, they went inside, and I followed from a distance to see what they were discussing.

“We have to tell everyone that it’s not just sand, it’s more than that, we don’t know how safe it is to breathe in.”

“It’s going to be fine; it will settle, and no one will need to know.” I couldn’t take it anymore and burst into the room.

“Tell me what the wall is made out of, tell me now.” They all looked at me, stunned, and glanced at each other, trying to decide whether or not they should reveal the truth.

”It’s made out of the dead, it was to honour them to keep them with us always,” said a younger man who seemed not to care about the outcome as his eyes glinted with guilt.

”We have to open the gate; we need to save everyone, or the dust will kill us all.” I practically yelled as they all tried to calm me down.

”You can’t be serious, we don’t know what’s out there, besides the gate will not open, it was damaged during the quake, and the dust will settle, it will just take some time.”

”How long is that going to take, months, years? How many of us will be left then, elder Armanzie?” I hit my fist on the table, but they only stared at me, unwilling to relinquish what little power they held. I needed a new plan, and fast.

”If you will not let us out, I will tear the wall open myself.”

”You are a fool if you think anyone is going to follow you. I will have you arrested before you even loosen the first brick.”

”So be it then.” I got up and walked out of the council office with all the elders scurrying behind me like rodents.

As I entered the city centre, I announced to everyone around.

“The council says the gate will not open, but still they refuse to let us out. This dust is killing all of us, because it is made of the remains of our dead.” I could hear audible gasps from those who did not know and nods from those who did.

”I ask that you help me save us all from those who have held us hostage from an invisible fear they have created. If the stories are true and there is danger beyond the walls, we will face it together. Within the walls, all that’s waiting for us is death, so stand with me and help break us out of the prison we built with the remains of our loved ones.”

People stared and shifted their weight, contemplating whether I was serious. I walked to the tool post and picked up a hammer. I walked to the wall and followed a crack from the top of the wall to where I was standing, and swung as hard as I could. The wall gave way to a small crevice and more cracking. I heard the elders screaming for me to stop, but I kept swinging. Soon, others joined me, a mother to my left with a baby on her back and an axe in her hand, swung with all she had left in her. My father, who had managed to reach me through the crowd, brought all the tools he had from our house and gave them to anyone who would take them. Soon, the few turned into the many, and as my arms were about to give out, I saw the horizon and sun peaking over the valley. The dust floated through the opening, contaminating the pure air we craved. But soon we could taste that crisp, clean air, and I knew we were finally free from our own death.