The Enemy
Time was always the enemy. Boy grappled to his feet and tried to ignore the spears of pain stabbing up his leg. He limped as fast as he could to the corner of the street, sheltering himself in the crevice of an old building. He could hear angry voices shouting words from the next street, words like “Runt!” and “Thief!”. Boy didn’t know what the words meant but he knew they were meant for him. Words like that followed him everywhere, although he didn’t know why. All he did was reach out to grab some bread, or an apple. He did this because if Boy went more than two days without eating some bread or an apple, he would die. So to avoid that at all costs, he had to steal the bread and the occasional piece of fruit.
Staying perfectly hidden in the shadows, Boy was invisible to the untrained eye. He found that if one stood very, very still, one just blended into the surroundings. He had practiced this several times with the tall guard whom everyone was afraid of, the one they called Jabar. Jabar had a great big device on his wrist which he always looked at and then muttered to himself. “It’s too late,” Boy would hear him mumble. “Time’s running out. We’ll all be bloody killed.”
Boy knew that with the word ‘kill’ came consequences. He’d heard it spoken often enough for it to bring shivers down his frail spine. Every time someone uttered the word, something bad ensued. For example, only two days ago, Boy had seen them drag a little girl-child into the town square. People clamoured and shoved to see what was going on. Then the chants began, first as a whisper and eventually rising to a monotonous chant.
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill the witch-child!”
Boy had made his way to the front of the crowd by moving under many pairs of legs and between sweaty bodies pressed against each other. He had seen the girl-child tied to a wooden stake, her eyes wide with fear. She couldn’t have been older than Boy. He felt sorry for her, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Things like that could not be helped, because Time was always the enemy. No matter how fast you ran, Time was always faster. It was an unbeatable foe, snapping at your heels, relentless and unforgiving. Boy knew a lot about Time because he was always trying to run away from it. Time seemed to drag on very long for him, especially when he was escaping from Jabar and the other guards. They’d point their long-nosed weapons at him and he’d sprint away as fast as he could, as far away from them as remotely possible. He did not want to be ‘killed’. It didn’t look like much fun, especially after they had ‘killed’ the girl-child and left her body lying in the square. Boy had gone up to it after everyone had left. He was curious because he had never seen someone been killed before. He’d poked and prodded the body, but the small girl lay unmoving on the rough pavement. Her eyes were glassy and lifeless, and Boy felt something in his heart twist with pain.
And now, Time was challenging him again. It crawled by, second by excruciating second, as he waited nervously, shielded by shadows and darkness. He heard the scuffling of feet, and he pressed himself back into the wall as if it would swallow him up. If only Time would speed up, walk on by without discovering his hiding place, he might be saved. It was very hard for him to spend Time everyday like this, living in fear of every next step. The footsteps came closer, closer, and closer still, and Boy drew in a quick intake of breath. Please, he prayed, please let me be saved. Give me more Time.
Someone obviously heard his monologue, for the footsteps suddenly receded and he heart a rough voice grunt, “Nope, the kid’s not here. Maybe he escaped along Route 18.” This was followed by more shuffling of footsteps, but this time they were moving away from him. He breathed out in relief. Saved again, by Time. Those must have been the three longest seconds of his life. Boy did not have much of a life, he thought to himself, if his Time was all just about running away from Jabar and his guards. I need to do something with my Time, Boy said to himself. Something good. He waited in the shadows for a while longer, and then slipped off into another alley in search of some more food.
* * *
Sun shone down brightly on his face. He had fallen asleep in a grassy meadow at the edge of town, his small body hidden by long rushes and clumps of greenery. Boy had not managed to find food the evening before, because although Time had saved him, It had also turned dark to that period they called ‘night’. Boy quite liked the night, even though all the food stalls were closed and there was nothing he could salvage. Night time meant security and assurance that nobody would find him, and he could lie in contentment wherever he wished. Boy got to his feet and stretched, taking in his surroundings, expecting to see the familiar back walls of the town houses.
But what Boy saw took his breath away. Instead of the usual roofs and walls stained with dirt, there was a line of tall, shiny, silver buildings. Light glinted off the windows and his eyes hurt when he looked at them. He was fascinated, and lifted his hands to touch them as if they were right in front of him. Taking tentative steps towards the shiny monstrosities, his heart pounded with unconcealed delight.
A sudden jarring call broke into his reverie. “Halt! Who goes there?"
Boy spun around to see who had spoken, but he was alone. He looked around in confusion, and that was when he noticed a long, pole-like gadget with a small box mounted on top of it. The box had a tiny circular piece of glass embedded in it, and the glass was focused on him. He looked at it. It looked back at him.
“Do you have a code number or serial ID, sir?” the box asked.
Boy did not know what code number or serial IDs were so he shook his head.
“What is your name then, sir?” the box enquired, sounding a bit ticked off.
“I’m Boy,” Boy said.
He heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath. The pole became shorter and shorter and eventually disappeared into the ground. He waited patiently and soon enough, he heard a whirring sound which got louder. A small circle a few feet in front of him suddenly split, like an eye opening. A shiny machine with silver hands, a muscular silver body and toned, silver legs emerged.
The face which belonged to the body looked at Boy and smiled. The face was a man’s face, with silver, steely skin and a perfect set of teeth. “Hello Boy,” the face said, and a cold, steely hand was extended towards him.
* * *
Boy was brought to a room lit with blue lights, something he had never seen before. There were tables lining every wall, and on the tables were boxes with windows in them. The windows showed moving pictures, and sometimes lots of words and numbers that made Boy go dizzy. In the middle of the room was a large, round contraption surrounded by shafts, gears and knobs. The man that had brought Boy down gestured to a small chair and said “Sit.”
Boy sat. The man disappeared into another room through a side door and Boy could hear snatches of conversation.
“ -without a permit! Experiment 3412, named Boy-”
“That’s impossible! No one has escaped our Confinements before-”
“-better do something! If Head finds out-”
“We’re not going to let that happen! Heck, you’re not going to let that happen. You careless fool! This is all your fault!”
“Why am I being blamed for something that-”
The raised voices continued their argument, and Boy swung his feet which barely reached the floor. He was getting rather bored. He had planned to do something interesting with his Time, and now here he was in an unknown place-
The silver man reentered the room and crouched next to Boy.
“We’re sending you back to Confinement Centre 36. This never happened. You did not meet me, you did not see this room, and you are Boy. That is all you know.”
Boy didn’t know what else to do, so he nodded. The man grasped Boy’s arm and pulled him to his feet towards the circular contraption. “Sit on the metal seat,” he grunted. Boy did as he was told, because the tone in the man’s voice reminded him of Jabar and how people always got “killed” after that.
He sat down and waited patiently. The man’s fingers flew over complicated-looking buttons with numbers and letters on them, and he shifted a few gears. Then he adjusted two knobs with dials on them, dials which looked like bigger versions of the device on Jabar’s wrist.
Finally the man seemed to be done. He looked Boy right in the eye and said, “Remember to remember nothing.” Then he pressed a red button, and a whirring sound started up. It got louder and louder, deafening almost, but the last thing Boy heard was the man’s frantic voice.
“Hell, I set the wrong time frame-”
* * *
Boy opened his eyes. He could hear noises nearby, and his mouth was filled with grit. He stumbled to his feet and looked around. There was debris and paraphernalia littering the place, broken bits of buildings lying around. Something about the air seemed familiar though. He’d been here before.
Then he remembered. The streets. The stalls. Jabar and his guards. He was back home, where Time was constantly on his heels. Boy sighed and decided to look for food. He was rather hungry.
When he reached the bakery, though, he was surprised to find it was empty, and the windows were dusty. It was as if Time had flown by and no one had bothered to wipe the glass. Just as Boy was about to push open the door to see if there was anyone inside, a tinny, mechanical voice sounded before him.
“Detonation system activated. Central Unit does not recognise Code that has just crossed Line B3607. Self-destruction of building will begin in 10 seconds.”
Boy did not know what that meant, so he shrugged and pushed the door to the bakery open. He needed food. Sooner or later it would be night, and night meant nothing to eat. And then it would be day, and day meant running away from Jabar and his guards. After all, Time was always the enemy.
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