The Confession of Violet Woods

[Classified 0048692]

The following is a confession of Woods (surname), Violet, classification Pupil Level 9, who is charged with deliberate destruction of property and discovery of ideas dangerous to the public.

You start to hear the rumors when you’re old enough to be in mixed Recreation. It’s the older kids who tell the younger ones. A tradition, passed down from generation to generation. I don’t know if I would have figured it out if someone hadn’t planted the idea in my head. I’m not sure anyone would have caught on. That’s why you have to be told, even if you don’t believe it. The suspicion has to be sparked. Otherwise, you’re just another pawn in their game, never questioning the rules, never wondering how they know who you are and who you’ll be, never pondering for even a second whether you had any choice in the matter of your own life.

If you’re wondering why the Instructors never put a stop to the rumors, I can’t tell you. I would like to think that they, too, experienced this sort of rite of passage in which authority was questioned, and that they encouraged the continuance of the custom. This is hard to believe, I admit, and in all probability, the Instructors simply did not know about the seditious words exchanged in whispers among the children during Recreation. All of us certainly did our best to keep them in the dark, and the claim that they’ve never heard or seen such traitorous gossip among the Pupils is a sign that our efforts were not in vain.

Now, of course, such exchanges will no longer be permitted, and I assume that Levels will no longer be allowed to mingle. A shame, really, because I always loved listening to the older ones talk. I learned so much about The Future’s expectations—what Profession I would go into, who my Spouse would be, how many Years I had left. It was innocent; fascinating, not dangerous. The rumors were only a miniscule percentage of the knowledge the older ones shared with us. The stories didn’t mean anything to anyone. They were only relevant to me because of something that happened later.

I don’t know how old I was when I was told; they don’t tell you your age until you’re fifteen. But I was a Level 3, so I must have been only…six. Or seven. Possibly eight. I suppose it doesn’t matter. It was my fourth Mixed Recreation, and I was in the Sand Pit with a Level 6 girl. I don’t remember her name—Sage, maybe?  She had shown me how you could create lumpy pillars by dribbling wet sand between her fingers. She was watching me practice, and that’s when she leaned over and told me three words that, no matter how hard I try, I will never forget.

“They watch you,” she’d said in a voice so soft that it could have been inside my head, except that I couldn’t have come up with such an idea on my own, especially at that age. I remember looking up, intrigued.

“Who?” I’d asked. I remember staring intently at her lips so I could be sure that this wisdom was coming from her. Sure enough, they moved perfectly in time with the voice’s message.

“The Future. That’s how they know who you are. That’s how they know where you are,” she’d replied, facing me but never meeting my eyes.

“But how?” I vividly remember asking this question. I remember my voice inflection; I remember the exact emotions running through me as I spoke. I remember the flicker of fear that flashed across Sage’s face a second before her expression became cold and hard as marble.

“I don’t know.” Then she got up and walked away, ending the conversation with three more words that I’ll always remember.

I dismissed the whole thing almost instantly. Of course I’d thought it was strange, but I’d had stranger exchanges than that with my Instructor. I put it out of my head and never had a second thought about it. That’s what all the Pupils do, eventually. They ignore it, then they forget it, and the only time it is ever brought up again is when Application is near, and everyone feels the need to share their wisdom with the little ones before it’s time to be shoved into their chosen Profession. Even those who never for a second believed the rumors passed them down because—well, they couldn’t not tell the little ones, because there was always the possibility that the rumors were true. And if they were, then the little ones had to be prepared. You couldn’t leave the future generation in ignorance. You had to tell them everything you knew, even what you were unsure of, and then you could forget about it. So that’s what they did. That’s what I did.

But I suppose I didn’t completely forget. I certainly didn’t banish the thought, but I put it in the back of my mind, where it could stay dormant forever. Or, it would have, if it hadn’t triggered it.

It was a year after I’d first heard the gossip. I’d gone off by myself during Recreation because the others were being too obnoxious, and while I was running, I tripped and bloodied my knee. I knew that if anyone saw it, they would immediately report me to my Instructor, who would send me to the School Healer. I was deathly afraid of Healers and willing to do whatever it took to avoid them, so I hid my injury under my uniform and tried not to limp for the rest of the day. When I got home, I noticed a small package on our porch. It was addressed to my Guardian, Vigil, but a note was taped to it that had my name on it, so I decided to open the parcel. Inside were instructions for treating minor cuts and bruises, along with ointment and bandages. I was puzzled, because I hadn’t told anyone about my scraped knee, and yet, here was the treatment for my exact injury. And then, Sage’s words suddenly popped into my head—though now I’ve realized that they’d been there the whole time—and I remember getting this horrible feeling, as though… as though at that moment, I was being watched. So I left the package and ran up to my room, where I crawled into bed and hid under the covers until I was called for Supper.

Nothing was the same after that. Everywhere I went, everything I did, I felt like someone was looming in the distance, perhaps above me, perhaps below, but always out of my sight. It was worse when I was alone, because then I could sense it. I could almost hear the whispers behind the wall. I could feel the invisible stares on my skin as easily as if they were ice. I felt as if I couldn’t escape. Nowhere was safe, and I was being driven insane. I have no doubt that I would have lost my sanity, if I hadn’t become so preoccupied with finding the Watchers.

That’s what I called them: Watchers. They were the Future’s spies, sent to peer into our lives so they would be able to control us. To make sure we behaved ourselves. To me, they were nothing but veiled eyes with a merciless stare. I didn’t think of them as humans. I think that’s why I figured out what they were when no else could crack the code. It never entered my mind that human beings were doing the Future’s dirty work behind the scenes. To be honest, I never thought any life form was being used, because anything with life is unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Perhaps I shouldn’t use that word; on the contrary, humans are very predictable. They’ll do anything to save their own perfect lives, that’s how the Future controls us. But I digress; the whole reason humans wouldn’t be used in this sort of vast surveillance is that anything with life has the ability to change—that’s what makes it such a threat.

A machine, on the other hand, made the perfect operative. No emotion, no complaints, no errors. Nothing but exactly what it was programmed to do. A machine could quietly blend into the background and survey its surroundings. It could easily record information and report its findings to a higher authority. And it could do it so much more efficiently than any human could. A machine made perfect sense. And that is how I knew what to look for.

As for the where, well, I knew that to hide such a machine, it would have to be either microscopic or disguised. Personally, I think it would have been more effective to have planted cameras that were invisible to the naked eye. It certainly would have lowered the risk of discovery. But growing up under the Future’s unrelenting scrutiny has taught me that they relish in their power over the rest of us, and they would have gained immense satisfaction in knowing that their source of power  was right under our noses. Therefore, the cameras were disguised as everyday objects, like lamps, and clocks, and television projectors, and placed everywhere, even outside. Every tree had a mechanical knot; every classroom, a metal brick. But no one knew.

Except for me.

Did you know that they make noise? You can hear it if you know what to listen for. A high-pitched, unwavering humming… you won’t notice it at first. I didn’t notice it until I leaned against a wall at school and I heard it—the brick—humming faintly. It’s louder the closer you get. But if you listen enough, you can hear it all the time. It no longer blends into white noise background. I could be in a room filled with hundreds of chattering Pupils, and the only thing I would hear would be that humming. Even now, I can hear it, gnawing away at my sanity as I speak.

Between that and the constant feeling of being watched, I think I’ve named a motive. There comes a point where it becomes too much, and I reached that point yesterday, Thursday, April 27th, at 4:39 pm. I’d had a normal day at school, but when I’d gotten home, all I wanted was to go up to my room and escape. I felt trapped. Trapped with no way out. I wanted to rip my ears out to stop the humming, cast off the stares that had grown so heavy on my shoulders. My head pounded. My heart clenched. And then--

A solution drifted into my mind, carried on a breeze. I was amazed at its simplicity. Destroy the camera. I knew where it was, in the clock on the wall. I had blunt force objects within my reach. It was simple. It was so, so simple.

So I did it.

There was a crunch of metal, a spark, and then the world was silent. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I can still recall that feeling—even with all the noise here—of complete and utter tranquility. I was alone, truly alone, for the first time. No one could see me. No one could hear me. I could have died, and no one would’ve been the wiser.  I was alone for sixteen glorious minutes. Then they found me and took me here.

I realize that what everyone here is most concerned about is what I did for those sixteen minutes in which I was not monitored, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no intention of telling you. There is absolutely nothing you can say or do to elicit a confession. Those sixteen minutes will die with me. No one can take them away. They are the only thing I’ve ever possessed that was entirely my own, and I intend to keep it that way.

I also realize that there is some debate over the punishment for such a transgression, seeing as this is the first reported time anyone has discovered and destroyed one of the Future’s cameras, and of course, something like this has—perhaps deadly—repercussions. I have been asked, just as countless other perpetrators have been, what consequences I believe are appropriate for my behavior, and while I don’t believe anything I say will be taken into serious consideration, I do have a suggestion: death.

It may be hard for you to understand why I plea for my own death. I do not wish to showcase the Future’s cruelty, nor do I want to become a martyr. I simply do not want to live anymore. After basking in freedom and then having to return to a life of hidden cameras and unrelenting humming, I have no reason to keep on. In fact, I cannot imagine anything crueler than keeping me alive. Death would be a welcome relief. It would also (because I know this is so important to the Future) discourage anyone else from trying to locate one of the cameras; if death is the penalty for success in such an endeavor, few will be willing to take the risk.

As I said before, I do not think I have any real say in the matter. Just let it be known that if I am not executed by the Future, I will take my own life as soon as the possibility is within reach. Then, I will be a martyr.

There is no doubt in my mind that everything I have said today will be written down and locked away, where no future generations can read it. I only wish I could warn them.

Freedom is the most dangerous feeling in the entire world, and also the most addictive. It’s the cause of thousands of wars. It makes you feel invincible. It makes you feel powerful. And once you taste it, you can never go back.

I may have only had sixteen minutes. But it was enough.



Violet Woods was executed on Friday, April 39th, two days after her arrest, and exactly one hour after her confession.