It had been months since we’d arrived here.
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Nine months.
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The camp was… scary, to say the least. The soldiers of the camp were one thing, and proved to be a mixed bag, because though the vast majority of the people were terrible, there were good ones. There was this guy, from a neighbouring country that once stood, and told us stories about why his land no longer was. The ‘horrors’ of Galaxia, as he described it, though in my mind, his country had very much deserved it for how they’d assaulted Sol’s people. His homeland had become a ‘sea of irradiated cobalt’, whatever that was, and was inhospitable unless Sol’s kingdom wanted to terraform it.
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Other than that though, the soldier was nice. He would take a group of us at a time on trips to nearby towns to see the culture- or what little of it was left, and buy us things as long as we behaved ‘good’, which meant staying unnoticed. The thing was, the other soldiers did not necessarily appreciate him being nice to us, and- well, they were giving him warnings.
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As the saying goes, third time’s the charm, or in this case, the third gallon works magic.
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Even after Eleen was burned at the stake, camp life still proved to be horrible. We were given jobs, all the boys and men either sent to the mines or factories, and the girls making uniforms or farming. The labour wasn't the problem though, just what happened when you didn’t make your daily quota.
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One of those days, Momma and I were sitting at home, completing our last uniforms for the day. We were nearly done, and we only had to make the caps. Noah had come home late that night since he worked the factories, not leaving until he’d finished his quota. Until that point, nobody had failed to meet said quota, but that was when we’d learn what happened when someone did.
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He had come in and slumped into a chair, unusually quiet. “Welcome back, Noah!” I said, “How have you been?” He looked up, giving me a light smile. “Hi Loy…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Are you okay?” I asked, stopping my cloth work. Noah opened his mouth to speak, while Momma continued working, listening simultaneously.
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“It’s okay, you can tell us.” Noah smiled at me, an emotion which vanished off his face promptly after he began speaking. “Today while we were working, my f-friend decided to take a break...” His voice wavered, but at that point, I didn't understand what was so wrong. He took another deep breath, speaking again.
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"He didn't finish his quota before he left. And... they... they dragged him back to the factory. They... they whipped him." His voice broke, each word a painful gasp. His eyes, wide with terror ,settled on Momma and I. "They... they whipped him raw. His back... it was a bloody mess." A sob escaped his lips, still traumatised.
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“Oh.” I gasped, putting a hand to my mouth, and standing up to go comfort him. “...I’m sorry.” I said, it was the only thing that came to mind. He relaxed into my hands, crying silently. Momma stopped her work, breathing deeply. “To bed you two.” “Oh, Momma, let me just finish-”
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“I’ll take care of it, off to bed.” “Oh, if you say so Momma…” I guided Noah to our bedroom, and as he immediately went to bed, I sat there, thinking about how much more time we’d be here.
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