Dec. 8. 

11:37 PM. 

The hum of the train was quiet enough for Margot to fall asleep, but not enough to forget where she was. It vibrated through her vertebrae and felt like a mesmerizing massage. The routine emittance of purified air pumped through the vents. It smelt sweet and carefully curated, optimizing the lung capacity of all citizens, but could not get rid of its artificial odor. The train pulled into the station before hers, and came to a cautious cessation. Her eyes flicked open. 

She rubbed them once, and the whole world turned into a whirlpool of waves. Blinking a few times, she regained control of the ocean and could see clearly. Margot sat alone in an almost empty train compartment. A Watcher, the only people in the city equipped with any sort of weaponry, guarded the door with a stiff stance. This scene was repeated until the end of the train. Margot leaned to her right to get a view of this picture perfect pattern. She giggled to herself about the idiocracy of the world. She had forgotten the rigid precision since going to college in the country. Over her shoulder, sat an older gentleman with a scar running down his face, the type to stare a little too long in public places. She could just make him out in her peripheral and made a point to check his status every few minutes. She tried to tell herself that she was totally tended, but her trust had teetered. The Watcher seemed sluggish, slow to action, and utterly unequipped to uphold the city's standard of statutory safety. 

Lost in thought, she would have missed her stop had it not been for the familiar screech of the rusty railway. She hopped up from her chair and slung her heavy backpack over her shoulder. It threw off her balance and she stumbled into the aisle. Margot regained her composure and confidently cat-walked down the aisle. She nodded to the Watcher and went on her merry way. 

It was a cool December night. The cold nipped at her nose and forced her to shove her unsheathed hands into her pockets. Margot pulled out an old candy crumbled from neglect, unwrapped it, and tossed it into her mouth. Her hand warmed next to her wallet and phone. She descended the steps of the station and exited. As she turned the corner, she could see the elderly gentleman hot on her tail. Not right behind her, but a close enough distance to be concerned. The streets were empty so Margot decided to forgo the sidewalk in favour of the open road. 

She skipped alone in the dark of the night. The lights luminated her lane. Anything outside of the light was a mystery. Untouched territory teeming with undiscovered potential. Margot could make out shadowy outlines of foreign objects. But she paid them no mind. For it was December 8th, no harm could come to her until tomorrow. The clock tower loomed overhead. Margot saw that tomorrow started in about twenty minutes, she calculated in her head the amount of time she had to make it home. Margot would be safe. She would make it just in time. Protected by the walls of her house and hidden from the death day destroyers. These were the people who outright opposed the ground-breaking and revolutionary safety changes to the city. They despised the rigid regulation and banishment of all negative emotions, save for one day. Margot knew she sat somewhere in the centre. The concentration of grief and pain for one ‘death day’ sounded like a good idea on paper. Margot was able to live deliberately and without fear 364 days of the year. The Watchers and meticulous safety regulations brought a sense of self satisfaction, but ceaseless surveillance. The only problem; you never knew which year was your last. The government decided. 

Margot focused on the silence. She relished in it as a way to stop the cogs in her cerebrum from constantly clicking. Everyone was asleep, or at least tucked in tight, and the machines had powered down. The only noise that rang in her ear was the ever-present recording equipment stationed on each and every street corner buzzing. It was dull, and easily missed, but Margot felt the vibration needling the nape of her neck. She rubbed it, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous. 

One store stood out. The rest of the row was rapt in ruin. Margot had to squint her eyes from the bright light emanating to her right. A cluster of TV’s fought for screen time in the store window. Margot paused. Basketball. Bleh. Hockey. Heinous. Most wanted? Yes, please. 

The fluorescent flashed in her face. Her eyes glinted from the reflection, showing the content in her dark brown eyes. One woman was on trial for murder on a non-death day. Another bland nobody caused harm on a non-death day. A serial death day killer. Notable features: a scar on the right side of his face. A scar? 

Margot had a terrible thought. 

She brushed her hair back, and inconspicuously glanced over her shoulder checking that the old man was still following her. He hovered around a host of parked cars across the street. She pivoted and slipped down a skinny alleyway settled between two stores. Margot was going to perform a test. She was a college student now, old enough and wise enough. They promoted that kind of thing. Independent investigation that is. Her professors would be so proud. Maybe Margot would get an award or special recognition. Her teachers are always trying to test the limits of the city. They want us to innovate, and create a better future where the city may be lacking. If she found a way for change, she would probably get a library named after her. Margot’s heart skipped at the thought. When in imminent danger, on a non death day, would the city created Watchers keep her safe? If Margot were to find a crack in the system, she could make it better. She checked for cameras and only saw one. It was at an odd angle, almost inviting mischief. Perhaps passersby positioned it for that purpose. Perfect. 

A shadow flicked over the only light source the alleyway provided. The old man picked up speed, so did Margot’s heart. She could hear his footsteps, squishing due to the slimy slush. Stomping and clomping behind her. Margot looked to the exit. She picked up her speed. This alleyway was really long, huh? The faster her feet could take her, the further away freedom got. Margot dared to glance behind her, announcing that she knew he was there. He was calm, cool, and collected. His pace stayed the same, and his steps were even. One hand in his pocket. 

Margot snapped her head back to check her location. Her hair stuck to the sweat that had sprung up on her face, obscuring her view. She frantically pawed at her cheeks, freeing them to flow in the wind. Margot thought she had made a mistake. She believed she was stupid for ever trusting in the city. Of course, they don’t care. Of course, they wouldn’t help. The elites only cared about themselves. 

What time was it again? 

It was almost December 9th. Was it December 9th? She couldn’t see the clock over the buildings. How much longer could Margot fool herself into thinking she was safe? Margot ditched her bag. It slipped right off her shoulder and plopped onto the ground, into a puddle. The slush kicked up soaking her entire pant leg. It didn’t matter. Margot could run. She heard the man audibly sigh. 

Margot erupted into the open air. 

She hit something and instantly felt the harsh hug of the cool concrete. The wet slush had found its way into her mouth. Margot ground her teeth and tasted the gritty gravel. Pins traveled up her arm after landing the blow with her elbow. She flexed it, attempting to sew the pain away. A pair of arms slithered around her waist. She was being lifted off the ground. Believing it to be the end, Margot did what any sane person might. She cried. 

“Ma’am?” 

Margot peered upward. She blinked. Her watery view was washing away. A Watcher loomed over her. He had a baby face, eyes wide and dimples deep. Margot had to stifle a laugh. This stupid city had proved her wrong. Tears continued to pour. 

“Ma’am?” The Watcher repeated, with much more concern. He bent down on the ground, picking up her phone and I.D. that had slipped out in the crash. The Watcher surveyed the content, name, age, death day. 

Margot stood on her tiptoes to look over the Watchers shoulder and down the alleyway. She saw him behind the dumpster. 

“There’s a man--The man you’re looking for! He…he…he’s the murder guy with the scar on his face. Please look behind you!” Margot blurted out, barely able to articulate her words. She pointed to the dark alleyway. The point had sent pin-pricks up her arm, reminding Margot of her injury. 

The clock chimed. 

Dec. 9. 

12:00 AM. 

The Watcher handed Margot her I.D. 

“Have a nice night, ma’am.” 

The Watcher stuck his hands into his pockets and sauntered off.

Margot stared in disbelief. Every sour feeling rushed back into her body. The aching was abrupt and angering. The old man sulked silently from the shadows. He held her backpack. It was slung over one shoulder. Margot backed away, one step at a time. 

“Help! He’s gonna kill me!” Margot screeched as the old man closed in. She had nowhere to run. 

The Watcher did nothing but wave goodbye.