Lying with his arms and legs stretched out, staring at a dense, overcast sky, was a young man so tall and pale he could blend in with the snow—and in this case, he was doing just that. He was daydreaming... Not for real, of course... 'Maybe one day,' he thought. But in truth, he was remembering other things.
To him, it felt like years... and yet, it seemed so recent.
'What do you think you're doing? Self-pity doesn't suit you!'
'Ah, but it's... just... Damn it! Why am I making excuses to my own conscience?! It's been 3 years... Everything's changed, get over it, Forly!'
Indeed, he wasn't the same boy; he had once been exceptionally rich. Not just any kind of rich; he was the heir to the wealthiest family in the country. But all he had left today were the clothes on his back—and misery, like anyone else who lived in the Fly.
He was lying on the ground, in the middle of a deserted street near the Fly, getting some air. His hopes had been dead for a long time, and now was no different, though they tried to show up uninvited.
"Next! And your name is..."
Said the voice in the screen above in a near post.
Forly shuddered. He wasn't expecting that. Been called...
"Forlose! Forlose!"
The voice was muffled. Forly froze; He wasn't prepared. But had been called.
"Forlose! Forlose! Wait... What!? Forlose? What the hell kind of name is that, Hank?"
Hank remained silent.
"Very well! We'll skip him."
"Wait!"
Forly scrambled to his feet, desperate, and went to the screen on the post.
"I am Forlose. My name is Forlose."
The voice on the other side beeped, then continued. "Very well. We have now recognized your voiceprint. Forlose. This call now is private."
The man chuckled, repeating the name again, and went on.
"Congratulations, you have been gifted by the government in the sole annual Harvest, chosen to go to the Middle.Now, go to the nearest police station, or to an identification point."
Forly was about to tune out when the man, laughing discreetly, said something.
"Hey! Is your name really Forlose, like, literally?"
But he just walked away.
'Yes... I think...'
***
After many years of studying scientifics ways to get out of the planet, they have found a way, more easier.
Access dreams while still awake, control them, and even share them, as a great collective dream memory.
So, be chosen by the government in the Harvest was, in a way, both a blessing and a curse. For all those who want to the Middle, would go through the Ordeal— usually under high values paid to the government— which in this case, for the Harvests, was called the Ordeal of Salvation.
The Salvation, happens every year, when the government chose someone from the lower class to have a chance in the Middle. If they survived the challenges, they could then be taken to a good city in the Middle, of their own choosing, living a new life far from the decaying Earth, which had long been a victim of nuclear war. Or, if they died, they would be automatically relegated to The Phantom Valley.
Forlose finally reach the destiny; stopped in front of a police station, old and rickety, covered in a kind of dark grime—and also, perhaps, old, dried blood, he thought.
pHeushed the shattered right glass door and squeezed his way inside. A second later, an alarm blared.
"LOW-CLASS CRIMIN—"
The police officer at the counter in front shouted, then cut himself off when he saw Forlose standing there.
"You again? Forly, what did I tell you about stealing food?"
"I was chosen."
"And well, you know if you need it, sometimes I can take pit—"
The officer smiled cynical, staring into Forlose's eyes.
"Chosen for real? Like, chosen? So that's why the alarm went off... interesting, I guess..."
Forly remained quiet, though impatient.
"Alright, let's see...
The guy went to the PC, and moments after, asked Forly to say somenthing.
"Idiot."
"So what? It's for real? Haha. Yeah! It's one hundred percernt real... Looks like you got a 'win' amidst so many 'loses.' Just don't get carried away and start calling yourself Forwin... Again... Forly."
He stood up and entered a narrow hallway to the right.
"Terrible joke, Gary..."
"Not listening!"
He disappeared into the darkness. He returned smiling and walked back to the counter.
"That's it folk! We happily we'll never met again. Good luck in the Ordeal."
Forly tried to say something, but his attention was caught off guard.
Suddenly, the floor beneath Forly's feet somehow shifted in weight, as if it had come loose from something; he heard the sound of an old motor whirring to life, and the tile he was standing on began to descend.
Before he could react, he realized his feet were stuck to the floor. Then, the small platform stopped after a few meters. The floor above sealed itself shut, and now an elevator, began to go down.
His feet came unstuck.
Everything around him was surprisingly clean, polished metal, a stark contrast to the usual rot of the police station above.
'Since when do they care so much about cleanliness?'
Then, the gravity of it hit him. Perhaps he hadn't fully absorbed the situation he was in.
He was going to the Middle. His mind began to wander. Started imagining himself running through meadows, breathing clean air, and doing things he couldn't before.
He also thought of pain and suffering, as he always did, thoughts of the Ordeal.
'So much for hope... I'm Forlose, not Forwin...'
When he came to, the door—'was there a door there?'—retracted smoothly to the right, clearing a path for him. In front of him stood two police officers dressed in black and dark blue uniforms; they also carried a strange type of rifle he had never seen before. They calmly approached him, took him by the arms, and led him to a chair in the middle of the room.
The environment was like the elevator; unfurnished, with three smooth metal walls, as if there were no exits—including the one he'd come through—except for a wall-sized panel in front of him and the chair.
The screen was black. Moments after he sat down—or rather, was thrown down—the same two officers tied his legs and arms to the chair with a clean, white rope that smelled of balm.
"Oh, man... Is this really necessary?"
'Actually, with this clean smell, I could stay here forever...'
However, when he looked to his sides, there was no one else there.
"What? But..."
The large screen lit up with a white light, drawing his attention back to it.
A hum, a very low hiss, seemed to come from the screen, but Forly couldn't pinpoint its exact origin.
And although normally calming, the white noise seemed strangely louder than it should be, and with each passing minute, he became confused about its location.
He spent minutes like this.
Left. Right. Front. Back.
It changed every 5 seconds, as he soon began to notice.
Then, for a moment, he had the impression that a clock was ticking amidst the sound; no, it was a spoon clinking against a cup; or was it a kettle catching fire; in fact, they really did seem like memories...
'Wait! What? Memories? Memories of my parents? Why did they die? Why? They left me with no money! I loved them. And they loved me... but I hate!'
Forly began to grow hot, and the roots of his hair started to itch. A single, discreet tear rolled down from his right eye.
At first, he felt himself sitting straighter in the chair.
He soon discovered he was actually sinking into it. But he couldn't move at all. He tried, but it was as if he had left his body and become a mere spectator.
The walls began to merge with the chair, and the screen became the chair and part of his body. Reality and dream no longer seemed to make sense, like trying to mix oil and water in a glass. As if he were...
'Daydreaming?'
Everything went black.
He opened his eyes, and everything was still black, but somehow, he now had a sense of space, as if he were floating in a vacuum.
A robotic female voice resonated clearly in his mind.
[Welcome Harvested! The Ordeal of Salvation begins now...]