Monica Endacott-Isaeva - Aged 14 - Runner Up

My knees threaten to buckle after the years of standing. The uneven, bloody ground beneath me is mine, and mine alone. A square I never chose yet can never leave; like most people who stand beyond the fog. 

​

We cannot see the lines, yet our bodies know them too well. There is only enough space to sit cross-legged… a last resort for those whose knees give way. No one ever stops to ask where they come from- all we know is that our government controls who can enter or leave. Some call them the ‘lines of safety’. Some believe they keep us trapped.

 

Some call them borders. 

 

No matter the condition, we are not able- allowed- to leave the squares. Not many have dared anyway, for those who have, faced consequences worse than the mind can comprehend. 

 

But I am tired of standing. 

 

 *          *          *

 

I dig my hands into my hair, nails clawing at my skin. I can’t un-hear the guttural wails that echo around me. My breath is ragged, my chest tight, an unseen weight crushing my lungs. A cry I don’t recognise as my own rips from my chapped lips, blending into the deafening Alarm. The Alarm we all fear. The Alarm that warns us of war.

​

My heart sours, and a hollow dread continues to spread through my chest. I know what is to come—for those who cry for help, and for myself.

 

In my world, those sworn to protect us have long since betrayed us. We, the people of the squares, are only pawns in their chess game. For every quarrel they have, we starve, we rot, we bury. But tonight is different. I have turned sixteen, meaning our ‘leaders’ can now remove me from my square to fight for our nation.

 

The thought coils in my chest like a knot, stealing my breath. Amidst the chaos, something catches my eye. A yellow light erupts in the distance. I let my jaw fall, my eyes reflecting the dancing flames, my face glowing-

 

BOOM

 

A soft hum surrounds me; my legs stretch out, the breeze brushing my face. For the first time, I don’t feel restricted. I feel... free.

 

It doesn’t last long before I am met with a harsh slam to the floor, skidding across the ground, collecting grazes across my skin. The soft hum becomes a screech that stabs my head- my eyes dart around their sockets in hope to escape the suffering. In angst, I force my arms beneath me to prop my body up. When only my shoulders move, I give up and roll onto my back.

 

I shudder the last of the air I had out and regain the pattern of my breathing. The slow rising and falling of my chest to distract myself of the burning sensation creeping into my ribs. My hair lays around my head, the silky strands weaving in between the grass and my shoulders. A warm, inviting smell enters my nose. More lights explode around me, but my eyes are fixated on the sky. Bright white lights decorate the dark. So serene, so sincere. I feel my eyes blur and my chest tightens once again. I have never seen such a sight- for in my square, the branches of trees always block my view. But here I lie, the corners of my lips tugging into what one may call a smile.

 

Wait... No. Nonononono. That can’t be right. I bite my tongue, tears welling up in my eyes as realisation sets in.

​

I left my square.

​

Memories hit me—Blood covered eyes, a pool of crimson around their head. I cried for help as one man’s lifeless body lay at my feet, all because he left his square. Crossed the border.

I push myself to sit upright, my fingers grasping at my stomach followed by a wail -that surely belongs to an animal- ripping from my mouth.

​

Willow, Get up! I urge myself.

 

“Miss?”

 

I jolt my head up, reminding myself to breathe as I glance at the person standing beyond me. His uniform is marked with the nation’s seal, his voice steady as he barks orders I can’t quite process. I nod to whatever he is saying and let him pull me forward. My mind is still a haze, but I know this much: I’m not being saved. I’m being claimed.
 

*          *          *

 

I sit amongst strangers, all of us so different yet in the same situation. A uniform hangs heavy on my shoulders, the nation seal stitched above my heart- as if to say any wrong move could result in my ultimate death. The commander – a man who constantly wears a scowl on his face- paces the room, spit flying with every word. “-Etrurians are your enemy. Tear their throats out, bash their skulls in. Honour your nation.”

​

We are given bags, barely large enough to fit a spare uniform, bottle of water and knife. The room hums with the sound of zippers and shallowed breathing. Fear clings to the air, thick and unspoken.

 

As I press the knife to the top of my bag- avoiding touching the blade- a boy I recognise as Liam flashes a toothy grin. “I want to be a painter.” I turn to look at him, not sure if maybe I misheard. He ruffles his light, curly hair and tucks his knife into his belt. “I couldn’t afford much, with what my parents left me, and there wasn’t much space in my square”, He didn’t meet my eyes this time, “but I used to draw in the dirt with my finger. Thought, y’know. Maybe one day I could paint the sunrise.”

 

The room is quiet for a while before a girl with jet-black hair, Aiko, clears her throat. “I want to become the General. Guide our country to victory.” Her voice doesn’t waver, but her hands do as she carefully folds her uniform.

​

“Willow?” Catching Liam’s gaze, I shrug and murmur, “I wanted to be free”, my face turns hot.

It sounded so childish, yet I’ve never said anything so true.

 

For a heartbeat, we share it — the weight of the dreams we’ll never touch. Then the commander’s bark splits the air, and the moment is gone.

 

We march before dawn, our boots crunch on the soil I was never meant to touch. My eyes are heavy, my boots dragging under the weight of the guns. Beyond the last bushes, the field opens before us. I pause, audibly gasping at the view: Cliffs carved with time surround the landscape, rivers and waterfalls glitter in the soft dawn glow. Blossoms hang from green branches, and in the middle- the most beautiful of all. A Willow Tree.

As I continue to admire the scenery, my eyes land on them. Children, no older than me, lined in rows across the valley. Not monsters or enemies. Just faces with the same fear I carry in my chest.

 

“Aiko.” My voice is shrill. “Aiko, I can’t do this.”

 

Her eyes flash with something I don’t recognise, betrayal? Maybe anger? “Willow, listen to yourself. Abandoning your post will have no effect on the Etrurians. They will attack until our city is up in flames.”

​

“They are children!” My hands are trembling so much, I have to clench them in a fist to hide it.

 

“Are human lives lower than the lines drawn on a map?” I can’t help but shout, hot tears streaming down my face.

Aiko raises her gun, eyes glistening. ‘You speak as if borders are meaningless,’ she spits. ‘You don’t see what’s at stake. We must protect our families, homes-”

I shake my head, disbelief clawing at me. “You would be protecting no one by murdering those children.”

​

But Aiko was not listening. I watched her aim the muzzle, her index finger bouncing above the trigger-“I will not let you get in the way of this.”

​

“AIKO! NO!” Liam’s voice snaps me out of my trance. My legs carries my body faster than I can think. My feet brushing past the long grass I trampled on. Distant gunshots sound and cries muffle, but I cannot look back, wishing that perhaps it was all an awful dream, that Aiko hadn’t-

​

I gasp, falling to the floor. Red liquid stains the grass. Turning my head for the final time, I glance up at the willow leaves. Softly swaying in the breeze, caressing my face and embracing me. Truly free. I smell the sweet fragrance of pollen; a strained chuckle escapes as it tickles my nose. While my vision blurs, a fire erupts in my chest. I can hear Liam’s frantic voice, telling me, begging me to stay with him. But how can I? In a world full of anger and hate. How can one force millions to die over a map they drew?

​

Some people will never know peace. They will control the land and lives of other through borders.

​

And as long as they do, the Willows will weep.