2066 - Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

That day in prison had fully taken up residence in David’s mind.

He refused to acknowledge the memory, but it was always there, waiting for the moment he closed his eyes. It frequently roused him from a deep sleep to awaken in a cold sweat, or haunted him when he was alone, which was most of the time. He wasn’t sure if those guards would return, or if they’d be replaced by someone worse, or what other horrors might await him. And those thoughts kept him company for the next few months as his sole, solitary cellmate until he was finally released.

That day was nothing special. They gave him the clothes he’d entered with, as well as the few meager belongings he’d had with him at intake, then turned him out on the street with a one-way ticket for anywhere he wanted to go.

He noticed a difference in the way others interacted with him now. The young man who’d entered prison half a year ago—the one who could barely pass for eighteen—was markedly different than the one who came out. He may have still been a teenager, but he didn’t look it anymore, and he was treated accordingly.

He returned to Halifax, but it felt empty. The city may have appeared alive and vibrant on the surface, but for him, it contained nothing.

He moved back into his parents’ house, but he barely saw them. This place had never felt like home, and even less so, now. Although they never said it, he knew he was unwelcome—a failure of a son they’d prefer to avoid.

They hadn’t visited once, while he was in prison. He knew he was owed nothing, but it still hurt. Even Victor had come by, although David refused to meet with him. He never wanted to see him again, and he had no interest in whatever pathetic, self-serving apology might be offered. But it still would’ve been more than he’d received from his own parents.

They knew why he’d been sent there, and he could see that it was a source of deep shame and disappointment for them. None of his achievements would ever matter, he realized, because he wouldn’t be bringing home a girl to introduce to them over dinner. David the honor roll student, and the track star, and the promising military officer, would never be enough.

He’d never see that look of pride on their faces—the one they’d worn when his sister announced her engagement and introduced her fiancé. Her relationship had been worthy of a formal party, all expenses paid, with dozens of friends and family in attendance. His, meanwhile, would always be a dirty secret.

Their attitude toward him reflected his general sense of apathy toward the world. His days were occupied by nothing, and his nights were dark and restless. He was always tired, but he rarely slept, and he alternated between staring at the wall, and staring through a window.

Weeks went by.

One day his mother entered his room, sat on the edge of the bed, and regarded him with a sad, sympathetic smile. He sat up, wondering what she could possibly want to speak to him about, and secretly grateful that she was finally willing to try. But then she placed a handful of brochures beside him. As he studied them, he realized these were promotions for career placement programs, government internships, and military training courses—far less prestigious than the one he’d been expelled from, of course. Some even specialized in finding jobs for those with criminal convictions.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

He sat there for a while, skimming those brochures with a cursory sense of boredom, then shrugged, lay back down, and stared at the wall again.

“Soon,” he finally managed.

Neither said anything else, and eventually she left; he felt her weight shift from the bed, and heard the sound of her quiet footsteps crossing the floor, then the door shutting gently behind her. And when he looked again, those brochures were still there.

He stayed a few more days, then left one night, unplanned and unannounced. He’d taken an evening walk to clear his mind, and found himself outside the train station; he’d gone there without even meaning to. He had just enough money to buy a ticket somewhere, so he did. He picked the furthest destination he could afford—Kamloops, 5,500 kilometers away.

The train stopped in the next city, and he got out to explore, but it felt the same. He spent two days there, then moved on.

He traveled Canada, watching woods and hills and prairie and mountains pass by that window. Five weeks. Seventeen stops.

His money ran out.

He called his parents, and they paid for the journey back to Halifax. Back to nothing.

He returned to their home, but they weren’t speaking to him at all now.

He wasn’t sure how many days elapsed after that. His waking life was passing unnoticed. His dreams were punctuated by visions of the Academy, and prison, and a future denied, and Victor, and General Howard, and those guards.

Again, and again, and again.

He’d only kept one thing from his time there—a book, which General Howard had given him during their last visit. This one, he’d said, was intended for David to keep. It was a gift, and he didn’t expect it back.

Howard had visited on ten separate occasions during the course of those six months. During the final one he’d wished David the best, and even left a short note inside the book’s cover with kind regards for the future, but there was a sadness to it, as they both knew it would be their last meeting.

They’d parted ways not as mentor and student, but rather as friends.

That book stared at him from a shelf, now, in that room. He couldn’t bear to look at it, but he couldn’t look away.

The sun rose, and the sun set. Then it rose again.

Upon seeing yet another dawn, David closed his eyes, as he always did when the soft morning rays landed on the bed, and he usually remained that way until the narrow sliver of light passed to the wall beside him.

But today, something compelled him to do more. He wasn’t quite ready to heed its call, but he hadn’t given up, yet, either—not entirely.

He opened his eyes, squinted against the sun, and the first thing he saw was that book.

He knew, in that moment—he wasn’t sure how, but he did—that if he didn’t get up now, this would be forever. He saw his whole life laid out before him, if he stayed—he’d randomly select one of those brochures, apply for whatever program it offered, and put in a half-effort to gain a certification that would lead to some sort of job. It was guaranteed to be difficult, unfulfilling work, but it would pay the bills, at least. There wouldn’t be much left over for even the simplest of luxuries, and he wouldn’t be able to find better thanks to his criminal record, but he could support himself, which would appease his parents. He’d never make them happy, but they’d stop being angry. And from then on, he’d spend every day trapped in a purposeless, repetitive routine from which he’d never escape, because he lacked the motivation, until the moment death finally took him in forty or fifty years, and secretly, he’d be grateful for it.

He closed his eyes, and the vision dissipated into the blackness. If he remained here, it would become reality, but even the thought of leaving seemed insurmountable. Still, though, he entertained it, because now he’d seen the alternative.

He couldn’t go out into the world unsupported, as he’d done before. He needed a plan. But when he opened his eyes, that book stared at him once more, and an idea suddenly materialized, as if spawned from the very same ether which had granted that vision.

He’d already thought of it, but it lay dormant, pushed into the deep recesses of his mind where he refused to acknowledge it. But now, its time had come. It wasn’t a very well-conceived plan, but it was better than nothing.

He forced himself to move. He sat up, then stood.

He took the bag he’d carried across Canada and filled it with the barest of essentials for yet another trip.

He picked up the book. It was going, too.

And he left that room.