Entry Fifteen

This is Rewel. I see everything and I still understand nothing.

I wait until dark before I try to open my eyes again. It hurts still. The glare of not-white scathes my retinas as I attempt to glance around. Small, thin leaves shoot up from the earth carpeting the ground, the not-white blades dressed with dew as moonlight reflects.

Is it the saturation of light or the not-white that causes my eyes to burn still. I know not. The leaves are soft on my fingertips, bits of dirt and dead pieces cling to my gloves.

Further ahead are trees with leaves the same not-white as the leaves from the ground and bark that is the not-white of dirt. The thing against my hand feels different, more solid somehow. I see this tree and understand one thing: this is a real tree.

And these soft blades that carpet the ground are alive and real.

I look to the sky and the light bathes my eyes with tears it pulls from my wells. It is bright enough to read, so I pull the book from my pack and see the words in moonlight, shimmering on the page. Back in the sky are dots of light that perpetuate and thrum.

I pull out the letter that Matduke stuck into the book and look at his perfect letters. I ball it up and toss it to the ground, letting it lie there, comforted by living carpet. The lettering shines in the moonlight, indignant. I pick it up and flatten it back out, shoving it back into the book.

I hear a voice between here and the moon: “Do you know what stars are, Rewel?”

I nod this time. I know what stars are.

Entry Fourteen

This is Rewel.  The world ends here.

The perfectly cut circular crust of the edge of the world is inches from my feet. Matduke has gone, leaving me with Tristam and a pack slung over my shoulder. “You must leave now,” Matduke had whispered in my ear. “They are after you, after the both of us.”

Tristam stands next to me and places a hand on the arching semi-metallic dome that surrounds the city. It pulses under his touch. “I’d like to say you’re lucky.” He pauses, fingers tapping the dome. “Write everything down in that book, in case you decide to come back. I want to know how it’s changed out there.”

His grey hair reflects his age; the wrinkled skin on the backs of his hands shows veins, real veins. “Don’t take off your gloves. Don’t tell them you’re from a white city encased in a dome. Tell them you remember nothing.” He turns and faces me. “People out there are just as likely to kill you as people in here.”

I nod and understand. I step towards the dome: the world ends here.

Tristam catches my arm. “I would hope to never see you again. And I would hope that out there you don’t remain a slave.”

I remove his hand from my arm. “I don’t know what I’ll do yet.” I feel Tristam shove me through the semi-metallic dome and it bends and folds to accommodate my shape as I force myself through it. I was told it is a semi-permeable field that prevented the city from coming into harm.

The pressure of the field is gone and I fall to solid ground with my eyes closed. I am afraid that if I open them I will only see the white cobblestone streets as I walk through the crowd of people dressed in white. Under my hands though is a softness, a lushness. It feels like silk or better.

I open my eyes. I must open them, I must see. But my eyes explode in pain and light and vividness that do not belong to the white city. And I scream and cry and scream. Everything is in my eyes and I see everything. There is so much pain in sight. The world ends here.

Entry Thirteen

This is Rewel. I see myself clearly, naked and battered, with skin the color of the walls and dead grey eyes that glare at myself in confusion. The black hair is shaved close to the skull and the face is an angry swollen mess. I stare at myself: I am human.

“You took a beating.” The smooth words glide into ear canals and vibrate ear drums. “Arion is quite the violent type.” There is a tug at my skin: needle and thread held by the Scientist. He says no more as he sews skin back to skin. The glass above me shows him in the reflection, bent over my shoulder, fingers working methodically.

There is Matduke sitting in the corner. He watches me in the reflection as I watch him, the blue of his prosthetic eye burning through me. Silence stretches thin covering the room in a film to mute the ears and quiet stares.

The snap of thread brings us back to the present. “You’ll be right as rain in a few days.” The Scientist helps me sit up as Matduke stands in front of me. There is silence again.

“Here.” Matduke hands a book to me. I riffle through it: pages I have written are bound in it along with hundreds of blank pages. At the very back is an envelope. “Read that later.” Silence creeps in once more.

The Scientist stands next to Matduke. “Just tell him, Speaker Matduke. This is nonsense.”

“Fine.” Matduke sits again. I feel the confusion leak through the pain on my face, itself a kick to the face. “I convinced the Speakers to put you on house arrest after explaining the situation of your… accidental murder.” The words settle in the air like dust. Matduke continues: “I told them that Tristam and I had been doing some experimentation on you in hopes of finding a way to maximize efficiency of the body while keeping the body at peak performance. Luckily, I still have some supporters among the Speakers, thus you are here.”

Silence like a vacuum that sticks to skin and thickens the air. Tristam, the Scientist, speaks: “We’ve been preparing you to leave. It’s sooner than we anticipated, but you will not last long with Arion in favor of the Speakers.”

“Leave,” the word crackles in my mouth. Perhaps they have enhanced my body but not my mind for I know not what they mean.

Silence again that physically hurts, digging into my skull. “We’re sending you outside the city, on a retrieval mission.” The words dig into my skull as well; is there no peace?

My eyes close and they speak: their voices are indistinguishable. “We want to send you out of the city to find another city where its inhabitants can speak.” There is Thief Riode lifeless on the floor; I can feel flecks of blood on my face.

“We would like you to take and retain the ability to speak from one of their residences.” There is Varien being molested by Arion.  

“We believe that the language function in other humans functions similarly to a program.” There is Matduke, long finger pointing to a man strapped to a wall.

“Once it is retained, we think we can reconstruct it and implement it into some of the people.” There is Arion with dead eyes tasting a broken body’s blood.

“We want to give the people their voice back. We’d like to break the silence.”

There is me. It is so quiet here. 

Entry Twelve

This is Rewel. The room is silent so painfully as an echo of nothing creates a vacuum in my ears. I’ve sat in the blind silence for minutes or days or years, but I do not know.

The footfalls outside are slow and heavy, reverberating outwardly, each in such volume that I cannot stop flinching. A door hisses open to the right of me, darkness filtering into the cell in the form of a silhouette. The footfalls enter the room rattling my brain. I see the foot, feel it connect to the side of my face, feel the wall that I crumble against. I see Speaker Arion, the skin on his face pulled tight over the latticework of wires; his dark eyes show nothing, but his lips peel back and the blinding light of the room dances on the silver of wires laced in his gums and teeth.

His foot connects to my head again. “What is he up to?” The words dart into my head with a ferocity that I almost retch. “Tell me what Matduke is doing.” Foot to head, I taste blood, feel it dribble down my chin.

Pain spreads down my neck, shoulders, envelops me and bans reality. There is nothing but the pain as he keeps kicking me. There is nothing but the bright blinding light and the force of his foot.

Eventually, he stops. He bends down and grabs my face, directing me to look at him. His face is gruesome: the pretty latticework of wires, twisted and contorted with anger and delight. He wipes of a spot of blood on my face, thumb pressing into a bruise. I do not wince because I cannot, there is nothing left in me.

He licks the blood of his thumb, not taking his eyes off me. “I will kill him.” 

Entry Eleven

This is Rewel.

They put me in a cell, so constantly bright as if to blind me and ban sleep. Or perhaps I was already blind and stuck in an eternal light. I ache as though I have been beaten, but I look and see no wounds or bruises in visible spots. I am dressed the same as before. However, the clothes, my gloves, it’s spattered, stained with red. Fingers with caked blood that still feel the crushing of a nose.

Be gentle? Was I not gentle? Was I not the only one startled when Thief Riode crumpled to the ground?

There are footsteps outside the walls. The door is flesh and seamless, so I do not know where anyone will enter. I sit in the middle, legs crossed, hunched over my hands in my lap. The insides of the gloves are still white; there is no blood on my palms, yet I feel the dried stuff crack on my knuckles at the slightest movement.

Be gentle, he said. Could he have known what I would do? Is there more to this that he knows? I didn’t intend to kill him. I didn’t know that I would hit him that hard. I didn’t know I could hit that hard.

His face pale and bloody as he slid to the ground. Had I been satisfied to watch him fall? No, I was relieved, but not in his death. He stayed on the ground, I didn’t have to fight him any longer. I didn’t have to play these games. But still, he was dead. I didn’t mean to kill him, but I did and I could only pity the thief when he became the victim of circumstance.

Be gentle. The words echo against the walls, in the blinding light. Be gentle, but I still do not understand the words. 

Entry Ten

This is Rewel.



I didn't mean to kill him...



but I did.

Entry Nine

This is Rewel. Do we all walk through the mist of uncertainty or am I the only one left who questions where I am going?

The arena is a large, white room; there is a square ring at the bottom that has some padding as bleachers rise on all four sides with four aisles as exits in the corners of the square building. Matduke’s shins rest against my back as touch of possession rather than friendliness. Speakers are scattered throughout the arena all with their Thieves, touching them in some manner.

Speaker Lizardo runs her hands through Thief Silverbaine’s white hair as the thief lies with her head in the speaker’s lap, the corners of her mouth turned up. A glance across the room creates eye contact with Varien. Speaker Arion has his hand on Varien’s thigh and is nibbling on his ear. Varien’s face is kept precisely blank. Another glance and I see another Speaker kissing the neck of his Thief, her eyes closed and smiling. There are a few pairs that sit similar to Matduke and I but they are far between.

“Shall we begin?” Arion’s neuron waves resonate in the room. “Thief Andony, Thief Kosei.” The two thieves rose from the bleachers and walked down to the ring. Their white clothes grip tightly to their bodies, feet bare, weaponless, they step onto the padding. “Begin”

I do not know which is which. They grapple, arms locked with arms, hands curled like sleeping children and impact is a red dawn as a nose explodes crimson. Fingernails dig into shoulders and one is thrown to the floor, the padding becomes slowly painted. Hurtling forward they embrace on the floor, no sound but heavy breathing, the lulling thud of human force.

Matduke sighs and places a hand on my crown. I look up to see Speaker Arion with his hand fully up Varien’s short skirt and kissing his thighs; Varien keeps his face passive.

“Enough, Andon, Kosei.” The waves rumble, thick with Arion’s own desire. “Speaker Matduke, you have never sent Thief Rewel into the ring. You will do so today.”

It is true, Matduke never requested to see me fight. I notice him stiffen, his grip on my crown tighten. “Be gentle,” he whispers, the words clinging to the atmosphere. I nod, as usual, but of course, I do not understand.