You hear about it your whole life: Cut off from everyone and everything. All of society. Food, shelter, entertainment, heated seats. You see it on the news, the cautionary tales, what happens when you take advantage. But you never think it could happen to you, or at least, I never thought it would happen to me. But there I was at my sentencing and the words echoed in my mind. ‘We sentence you to exile.’ It was so final. No appeals process, no exit orientation, no pat on the back, bag lunch or even a ‘good luck with that’. So my good fortune ran out. But you won’t hear any complaints from me; I’d been pushing it for too long. Let me be perfectly honest with you: I deserved it. Ok, so I might be the first guy to be exiled for swiping a candy bar, but it was about much more than that. They say I’ve shown ‘a pattern of disrespect’ and that I ‘take advantage of a polite society’. They’re one hundred percent correct. One hundred percent.
I’ve never done anything particularly heinous, but if a million mosquito bites can drain the blood from a man, then I’ve done more than enough to bring this fate upon myself. You know it’s funny, but I finally have a little respect for these people. My people. I thought they were too weak and lacking in sense to take any real action. A candy bar here, a wallet there, cutting in line, punching more than a few who deserved it (even if they didn’t break any written laws). I found the line drawn in the sand and danced before it, making sure never to cross it—and I never did. But they saw through it, and dammit, they did the right thing. I thought another lashing was coming my way, some more pain and scars reminding me to play nice. That, I was all too used to by now. And they knew it.
If I lived long ago I would have been locked in a cage— like an animal— with other ‘rule breakers’, only to be released and recaptured, over and over again. How utterly barbaric. No public lashings, no exile, and a society filled with disgusting, selfish, rude people. A society filled with people like me— and worse. It was right then that I found. a deep appreciation for everything I was leaving. That peaceful society wasn’t so bad. Kind and generous people, prosperity, good food, good fun, and plenty of opportunity. I guess you never know what you have until it’s gone. But deep down, something always bothered me. The niceness. The sweetness. Somehow, it all felt so fake. Maybe I’ve always secretly wanted to live with the wild people on the outside, struggling every day. But that was just daydreaming. I was about to find out what it was really all about. They say you’re lucky if you survive the first week. Your whole life you hear stories of the exiles: wearing animal skins, killing their food, their enemies and the weak. Nothing but lying, cheating and stealing, without comfort or fun.
And so, without ceremony, they shoved me into a shuttle that would take me to the edge—to the great wall that circled Goldhaven, dividing paradise from the outlands. This shuttle, I realized, was the last taste of luxury I would enjoy. The seats were soft, reclined, and temperature controlled. The things we take for granted, and I was about to lose all of them. It was a three hour trip, so I made the most of my time by leaning back, closing my eyes, and drifting off.
I awoke when the shuttle screeched to a halt. The door slid open. This is it, I thought. I’m going to walk out there and the snipers on the wall will put a hole in me if I don’t run. I’ll probably run away into the woods only to be killed (or worse) by some savage, waiting to swoop in on some fresh meat. It wasn’t officially a death sentence, but it might as well have been. I took a step toward the exit and my legs were shaking. What I felt was, surprisingly, not fear. Not at all. I felt alive. I felt really alive. For the first time in my life I felt like I wasn’t lying in a soft recliner with a methadone drip, watching someone else’s life on a tv. I wasn’t watching some fictional character in danger, I was in danger. Me! I could feel my hairs standing on end, my vision coming to a sharp focus. As I stepped into the evening air, something stirred inside of me.
The sun was drifting down into the horizon, just enough light to see the snipers guns fixed. They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t need to. I knew how it worked. Deep breath. 1, 2 — I was off! I ran like I’d never run before. I ran free! ‘CRACK’ went a gun from the wall, blasting the ground two feet in front of me, kicking a cloud of dust up and into my eyes. Are they trying to hit me or just sending a message? I wondered. Better not find out. I ran like a deer from a wolf, possessed by the crazed spirit of survival. Was that another gunshot? It didn’t matter. Even if I was hit I’d have felt nothing but the madness driving me forward. When I finally reached the cover of the trees my lungs burned with every breath—but I didn’t stop. Maybe a part of me just wanted to get it over with and face whatever was out there, whatever terrible thing I was going to run into first. A snapping branch stopped me in my tracks. I looked back and saw only forest. Another SNAP. This time I saw something move. Someone, or something, was following me.
