Gerden Ibrahim

At that moment I was distracted by much more important things, of course, but as they finally drove away and the only sound we could hear was my little girl crying, I noticed that Thomas had left something behind.

A pack of cigarettes on the ground.

Now seeing him smoke was a little unexpected, but throwing a pack of cigarettes on the ground was impossible.

No one ever littered in Milton, especially not someone working for the committee.

If I hadn't noticed, or if it hadn't been such a strange sight, maybe I would have continued my life in ignorance.

But I didn't.

I picked it up before anyone else saw it.

I don't know why, maybe it was just a gut feeling, but I went back into our house to open the package instead of throwing it away.

There were no cigarettes inside, but something else.

Polaroids.

There weren't many, and the quality was bad, but it was obvious what I was seeing on them.

Dead bodies, lifeless bodies hanging in a row, with cuts so they'd be empty to their blood.

I even recognized a few faces.

Neighbors who had welcomed grandchildren recently were taken away to live in the other sector behind the forest.

Only now did I realize why our resources were so full, why we had so much, why even the ones working for the committee were always young.

I don't know how brainwashed they were, but this seemed to be alright with them.

I understood why we had so much.

We were not sharing with the elderly.

There was no perfect place for their retirement.

When they finished doing their work, they were disposed of.