Because I Had To

An imaginative composed by Abby (Year 10)

“I shot them because I had to.”

The words burned in my throat. I stumbled over my feet and leaned against the wall. It was slick, covered in something I couldn’t quite name.

Blood maybe.

Grief, definitely.

The silence that followed wasn’t silent. It was heavy. My friend’s screams pounded in my head. I could hear the pain in their shrieks. Guilt washed over me. Sorrow pierced me. I put my face in my hands, trying to drain the noise out. My body folded like paper; I looked like a crumpled ball of despair.

Julie’s face stained my mind. She begged me not to pull the trigger, but I did. I had to. Her skin was already turning yellow, the bite started turning black and her eyes were lost. It was like she was already gone. “I shot them because I had to”, I quivered once again. I said it as if repeating it would wash away the guild that consumed me.

A hand grabbed me. I flinched.

“Eliza!” It was Marlo. “I shot them because I had to,” I explain through ragged breaths, still shaken by what I had done. “I know,” he replied, with his sympathetic blue eyes darting further into the sewers, scanning for danger. “But we need to go, the Plebs are coming.”

Plebs. Originated from the government's sick, twisted idea of population control. It all started when the government secretly released COVID into the world, the ‘manageable’ strain of disease. The labs were working on a new strain when they made a mistake. One that fell from their hands and into ours. 

As we ran through the long, dark, grimy tunnels that stretched like veins in a body, all I could think about was how much I needed to get out of this city.

My sisters cough echoed as it bounced off the apartment walls. It took days of her suffering and spluttering before doctors came to see her. They told us it was ‘manageable’. They lied. My sister was six when she died. She never got to live her life, and the blood was on the government's hands. She didn’t deserve that, to be taken out by the first strain of man-made disease. No one deserved to. It was hell.

Marlo tapped me on the shoulder, saving me from my own thoughts. “It’s just up here”, he says as he points toward a ladder. We reach the first steps and look above us; red and orange light seeped through the grate of the drain. He gestures to me to climb up, but I hesitate. My friends’ faces come into my head again. “It’s okay,” he says, “you shot them because you had to.”

I nod and begin to work my way up the ladder. I was two steps from the top when I saw it in full effect, the sky.

The sky was painted a beautiful mix of bright oranges and vivid reds. The red that came from the portal. I followed the mists trail in the sky, and there it was. About 400 meters away, the portal to a better life.

The portal was first created when the second strain of COVID broke out, the mishap one. It was first offered to the government, then the rich, then the useful. The rest of us were left here to die. We knew that the portal was a real way out when the World Health Organisation files were leaked. Officials stopped broadcasting reports. Food stopped coming. The idea of a ‘government’ disappeared. They would all rather escape then try to fix the mess they created. 

I turn around to help Marlo up, when suddenly - BOOM. An explosion. The noise screeches in my ear, the ground shakes, and the barricades begin to topple. The Plebs have broken in. The capital is falling. The portal is flickering. I turn and pull Marlo up, saying “We need to go. Now!”

I grab his hand, and we run. We need to make it. I need to make it. I owe it to them. To my friends, to my sister, to my mum.

We pass the clock towers, its arm forever frozen at midnight. The buildings catch alight, making the people look like shadows, running silhouettes. The windows are red, bouncing off the portal light. The signs reflect off the wet pavement, painting them the portals red also.

We run faster. I think of my mum as the Plebs chase after us, their inhumane moans echoing through my skull. I lost my mum to the second COVID strain. Her skin turned yellow overnight, the bite looked as black as charcoal, and the craziness in her eyes growing. She did what most did, took her own life before the disease could. 

Ten meters out, the ground rattles and I am brought back to my mother. Her pleading eyes, her broken smile. She looked at me and said three words, “I’m sorry, Eliza.” That’s when I saw the pills perfectly lined up behind her. It was her final act. Human. Brave.

The mist is in arms reach now, and I look up. The portal glows, swirling like a wound in the sky. The smoke dances around us. Buildings collapse, the portal flickers brighter and faster than ever before. I glance at Marlo; his eyes are filled with fear and hope.

We leap, and I feel the mist surround me, consuming me. I feel a sense of contentment until I feel something in my calf. Teeth. Broken, cracked teeth. I don’t scream. There’s no point. I already know what happened. 

Darkness swallows me whole.